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TKe City College 

Memories of Sixty Years 

Edited for the 

Associate Alumni 

of 

The College of the City of New York 

By 

Philip J. Mosenthal, M.S., '83 

and 
Charles F. Home, Ph.D., '89 




G. P. Putnam's Sons 
New York and London 
Zbc IRntcfterbocFicr press 

1907 



1. 



Jj 



Two CoolM Rocelvod [ 
JUL ^5 1907 
^ooxrieM Entry 
^. „ , Z./9^7 
U3s/,a X^- No. 

/F / 7 oo 

COPY o. 



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1 



Copyright, 1907 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 



Ubc IRnicherbochcr iprcss, IRew 33orft 



At the annual business meeting of the Associate 
Alumni of the College of the City of New York, held 
October 20, 1905, it was .determined by resolution to 
publish a memorial volume to record the life and history 
of the old College at the time of the change to new 
conditions in the new buildings on St. Nicholas Heights. 
To carry on this work, a committee was appointed 
consisting of the members of the Alumni below micn- 
tioned. Messrs. Mosenthal and Home of the committee 
were designated as editors. 

Philip J. Mosenthal, '83, Chairman. 

Richard R. Bowker, '68, 

Ferdinand Shack, '74, 

Charles F. Horne, '89. 



Contents 



PAGE 

The Spirit of the College — Proem . . . . xv 

Philip J. Mosenthal, M.S., '83. 



IRespice 



The College of the Past ...... 3 

Richard R. Bowker, A.B., '68. 

The First President . . . . . . .67 

Everett P. Wheeler, A.M., LL.B., '56. 

The First Faculty ....... 87 

Alfred G. Compton, A. M., '53. 

Acting President, C. C. N. Y., 1906-1907. 

The Second President ...... 107 

Charles E. Lydecker, B.S., LL.B., '71. 

The Later Faculty ....... 139 

Adolph Werner, M.S., Ph.D., '57. 

Professor of German, C. C. N. Y. 

The Life of the College ..... 

The Beginnings ..... 159 

James R. Steers, A.B., LL.B., '53. 



vi Contents 



The Life of the College (continued) 

The Early Sixties ..... 204 

Ira Remsen, A.B., M.D., Ph.D., LL.D., '65. 

President of Johns Hopkins University. 

After the War . . , . .221 

John R. Sim, A.B., '68. 

Professor of Mathematics, C. C. N. Y. 

The Change from the Free Academy . 239 

Robert Abbe, A.B., M.D., '70. 

Lecturer on Surgery, Cokimbia University. 

The Later Seventies .... 252 

Lewis S.wre Burchard, A.B., LL.B., '77. 

The Eighties ...... 302 

Lewis Freeman Mott, M.S., Ph.D., '83. 
Professor of Enghsh, C. C. X.Y. 

The Early Nineties ..... 321 
Arthur Guiterman, A.B., 'gi. 

Under Changing Rule .... 337 
Howard C. Green, A.M., '02. 

The Present System .... 352 

James Ambrose Farrell, '07. 

President of the Students' Council. 

The College in the Civil War ..... 367 

Henry E. Tremain, A.B., LL.B., '60. 

Brevet Brigadier-General U. S. Vols. 

Charles F. Horne, M.S., Ph.D. '89 

Assistant Professor of English, C. C. X. Y. 

Russell Sturgis, A.M., Ph.D., '56. 

Professor of Architecture, C. C. N. Y., 1878-1883. 

Richmond B. Elliott, A.M., M.D., '59. 



Contents vil 

PAGE 

The Literary Societies . . . . , . 419 

Edward M. Colie, A.B., '73. 

President of the Associate Alumni, C. C. N. Y. 

Theodore Tilton, '55. 

College Journalism ...... 441 

Julius M. Mayer, A.B., LL.B., '84. 

Former Attorney General of the State of New York. 

Lewis Sayre Burchard, A.B.. LLB., '77. 
And the Editors. 



The Fraternities . . . . . . . 477 

Frank Keck, B.S., LL.B., '72. 

The Songs of C. C. N. Y 487 

Henry E. Jenkins, B.S., LL.B., '75. 

Principal of Public School 171, New York City. 

a^0pice 

The College of the Present ..... 543 

John Huston Finley, LL.D. 
President of the College. 



IPro0pice 

The College of the Future ..... 559 

Edward Morse Shepard, A.B., LL.D., '69, 

Chairman of the Trustees of the College. 



Illustrations 

PAGE 

The New College Frontispiece 

From the design by the architect, George B Post 

The Old College 5 

The Lexington Avenue Fagade 9 ♦^ 

The Lexington Avenue Front 13 - 

The Lexington Avenue Entrance 17 

Basement Hall from Lexington Avenue . . . 21-^ 

The Janitor's Office . 25- 

The Janitor's Apartments . . . _ . . . . 29 ^ 

The Twenty-third vStreet Entrance . . . . 33 -^ 

The Inside View of the Students' Entrance . . ■^'] '■ 

The Basement Corridor, Looking South . . . 41 

A Snap-Shot of the Third President .... 45 ■ 

The Engine Room 49 

The Engineer's Apartments 53^ 

First-Floor Corridor, Looking South . . . . 5 7 -^ 

The First-Floor Corridor, Looking toward the 

Librarv 61^ 



X Illustrations 

PAGE 

President Horace Webster 69 

The Library Corridor, Looking East .... 73 

The Library, West End 77 

The vSecretary's Office 81 

The First Faculty 89 

The President's Office, Looking North ... 93 

President's Office. — The Judgment Seat ... 97 

Corridor, First Floor, Looking North . . . 10 1 

President Alexander S. Webb 109 

A Fraternity Corner in the Main Hall . . . . 113 

Corridor, First Floor, Looking North . . . . 117 

Civil War Memorial Tablet 121 

A Fraternity Corner 125 

The Chemical Lecture Room 129 

A Chemistry Lecturer 133 

The Later Faculty 141 

The Facult}^ Room 145 

The Later Faculty 149 

The Chemical Library . 153 

The Research Laboratory 161 

At Work in the Research Laboratory . . . 165 

The Students' Laboratory 169 

The Second-Floor Corridor 173 

The Ichthyosaurus 177 

The Latin Room 181 



Illustrations xi 

PAGE 

Clionia Session 185 

The Greek Room 189 

Phrenocosmia in Session 193 

The Repository 197 

The French Room 201 

Room Five 205 

Room Three . 209 

The Drawing Room 213 

A Lecture in the Drawing Room 217 

Professor Anthon's Historical Cabinet . . . 223 

The History Room 227 

The Third-Floor Corridor 231 

The Old Drinking Fountain 235 

The Philosophy Room 241 

The English Room 245 

Professor Hunt's Room 249 

The Large Mathematics Room, Number Twenty- 
one 253 

A Board in the Mathematics Room . . . . 257 

The Smaller Mathematics Room 261 

The Old German Room 265 

The Mechanical Society 269 

Apparatus Room of the Physics Department . . 273 

Prof. Compton in his Workshop 277 

The South Chapel Stairs 281 



xii Illustrations 

PAGE 

The Chapel, Looking East 285 

The Class of '05 289 

The College Orchestra 293 

A Corner Room in the Chapel 297 

One of the Small Rooms off the Chapel . . . 305 

The Clionian Library 311 

The Workshop Looking South 317 

The Workshop 323 

The Workshop, Carpentering Room . . . . 329 

The Workshop, Forge Room 335 

The Workshop, the Engine 341 

The Workshop, the Molding Shop 347 

The Entrance from the Yard 353 

The Yard and the Bridge of Sighs ... -359 

The Yard Looking West 369 

Senior Mechanical Class 373 

The Twent3'-Second Street Annex . . . . 379 
The Entrance to the Bridge of Sighs . . . .385 

Lower Hall of Twenty-Second Street Building . 391 

The Latest Addition 397 

Microscopic Examination in Room G, under Dr. 

Bryan 405 

The College Mercury Editorial Room . . . . 411 

The Natural History Hall 419 

The Natural History Hall. Platform .... 423 



Illustrations 



XIU 



PAGE 

The Natural History Hall . . . . . . . 429 

A Corner of the Natural History Hall . . -435 

A Comer of the Natural History Hall . . . 443 

Dissecting Work 449 

Professor Stratford in his Office 455 

The Department of Ph3^sics 461 

The Department of German 465 

The Latin Department .' 471 

The Department of Greek .481 

The Department of History 489 

The Department of Natural History . . . . 495 

The Department of Philosophy 501 

The French Department 507 

The Department of Chemistry 513 

The Department of Drawing 519 

The Department of Mathematics . . . . . 525 

The Department of English 529 

The Chellborg Ba.kery 533 

Prof. Alfred S. Compton 537 

President John H. Finley ....... 545 

The Annex 549 

The Turrets and Spires 553 

The New College . 561 



The Spirit of the College 

Philip J. Mosenthal, '83 

Proem 

'npHIS book has come to be because it seems right 
that we make a record of the spirit of the old 
College before it become merged into the larger spirit 
of the new. A larger spirit, yes, but not a deeper one. 
You of generations now beginning will have wider op- 
portunities; perhaps 3^ou will learn more things; you 
must learn them differently, you cannot help doing 
so. Since the day of many of us, and not of the 
oldest, men have learnt how to apply electricity and 
to teach psychology with a yard-stick. 

The economic and the social world must change or 
stagnate. The world of the spirit endures and still 
strives for the ideals descended from the marble halls 
of Athens and the stable of Bethlehem. 

These ideals were given us by the mothers of our 
bodies; they were fostered by the Benign Mother who 
gave us intellectual life. Our strength and our loyal 
service are theirs ! 

With this feeling of thankfulness I would try to in- 



xvi The Spirit of the College 

terpret the spirit of our College. There are many who 
would see differently and write better; the errors will 
be those of love and gratitude. 

The spirit of the old College will live on deep in the 
lives and achievements of some thousands of hard- 
working, clear-thinking, and straight-living citizens of 
this mother of cities. They have worked hard because 
that is what the College taught them if it never taught 
an3^thing else. They have thought clearly be- 
cause they were trained by a body of the best, pure 
teachers a lot of boys ever had the good luck to learn 
from — teachers who had no other mission but to teach. 
They have lived straight because the inspiration of 
their early manhood came from men to whom right 
living was a religion. 

This republic was founded by men who worked and 
were free and by the work of freemen it must endure. 
By teaching us to toil for success and that success 
for the individual and the commonwealth comes through 
toil, we were fitted to be citizens. 

As the boys, or most of them, came to work, so the 
teachers stayed to teach. Did w^e ever realize or un- 
derstand the sacrifice of achievement, the loss of 
the chance of fame as the world counts it that lay 
in that persistent, painstaking teaching? Rarely less 
than four hours of actual instruction each day and 
hours more of preparation and incidental work — no 
teachers in any college in the land have done more. 
Fortunatelv, few have to do as much. What books 



The Spirit of the College xvii 

are unwritten, what scientific research is unfinished 
because the brain grew weary, and time was not left 
after the hard pounding hour after hour to make boys 
understand! This is the debt we owe them, this is 
what they gave for us. Our lives, our characters, our 
successes are the product. Was it worth while? They 
must judge from the heights of duty done, from the 
deeps of unfulfilled ambition. We can but thank 
them. 

They say that the men of to-da}^ are to have a 
better chance. So be it. Whatever you do, you of the 
new College, give your men time to do their work ! 

But we played too. Curious, is it not? We did 
not come to College for a good time but we managed 
to have it. We did not come because it was the 
thing our world demanded of us so that we might 
prove our respectability, and nevertheless, perhaps 
we have proved it. 

We never had a paid, coach, but we played football, 
we boated, we did the things that boys with healthy 
bodies must do. We rarely won matches, indeed we 
did not often have the chance to try. But we played 
the game, whatever it was, for the game's sake. Some 
important institutions are just beginning to remember 
that that is what the game is for. Did the bo3's who 
ran races on the new avenues to the northward — they 
are now in the heart of town — or who played football 
in a vacant lot get less health and less of the keen 
joy of living because no stadium full of cheering 



xviii The Spirit of the College 

thousands spurred them on to win ? They played with 
tense muscles and full, deep breathing and with a 
great joy. And they won when they could. 

I think that we have always had less trouble in 
keeping together our literary societies than our Ath- 
letic Association. Has it been said that we were 
weaklings ? 

The victories of an earlier generation of our athletes 
are worth recording. In the 'seventies, we held the 
intercollegiate records, I believe, in the mile walk 
and the pole vault and perhaps in other games. I have 
an idea that this was before the da^'s of the higher 
training and when a fraction of a second taken from 
or an inch added to the last great effort was not a 
matter of newspaper extras or national pride. Since 
then our friendly rivals have bought with lavishness, 
urged by the desire to win and advertise, coaches and 
training systems beyond the dreams of simpler days. 
Our poor little records are separated by minutes and 
yards from the scores now remembered by college 
youth. 

They say that we are again to become winners in 
intercollegiate contests. We hear that the College is 
to have all that heart can desire to help us do it. None 
will cheer louder than those who ran and played in 
the vacant lots. May they not then have the hope, 
too, that the sound bodies of the many will be developed 
before the records of the few? — that all may join in the 
game, that there may be no sub vent ioned gladiators? 



The Spirit of the College xix 

Cheering the contestants is a good, whole-souled custom, 
but joining the fray is better sport. 

May the conquerors of the newer day remember 
the vanquished of the- old — and may they play as hard 
and as fair! 

We were certainly the heirs of West Point tradition. 
It made for work and endurance, for discipline and for 
standing up to face the fight of the world more than it 
made for the more elegant learning. We have pro- 
duced few dilettanti and no idlers. But the spirit of 
the finer culture was not lacking. If we had the 
military discipline of Webster and Webb, we had the 
literary influence of Anthon and Barton. The base of 
the college work was its rigid, strenuous course in 
mathematics. But we were perhaps the first college 
in the land to have a chair in English and among the 
first to give equal importance to modern as to ancient 
languages. Since the earliest days we have taught 
the practice and appreciation of the fine arts. We have 
had an ethical and a political ideal. It is suggestive 
that the professor of moral and intellectual philosophy 
taught also economics and constitutional and inter- 
national law. 

The military spirit did not create in its out-working 
an ideal collegiate atmosphere. It made us stand 
upright; it gave us discipline of mind and habits; it 
made us more or less respecters of established authority 
and, within limits, law-abiding. It gave us too a 
sense of responsibility^ As an officer is charged with 



XX The Spirit of the College 

the care of his men, the men of the up])er classes were 
lield t(,) maintain the tone of the College. I think that 
President Webb trusted us and made us feel his trust. 

But the mihtary spirit cHd not tend to beauty of 
environment, it i^ave us no feeling- of the hohness that 
makes of some college halls shrines for pilgrimage. 
The old l\)llege is not iK^autiful, however sanctified it be 
to man\" of us by association and friendship. It has 
never become a jilace of worship to which men in their 
age retiu'n as the\' must to the gray towers of Oxford 
or the elms of the Harvard yank 

The C'ollege was founckxl and given its limits before 
the chiy that the nation realized that beauty as a part 
of educati(Mi tends to l^eauty as a part of life. Soul, 
mintk and both', all three must be trained for iniiversal 
harmony. 

Again, fnnn that stem tlisci]dine came the loss to us 
of personal association witli mu" teachers. Far too 
few of those who could have made us loyal to our 
College tried to do so. Far too few cared or ])erha])s 
h:id time io care Un' the human being within the pupil. 
This is written with a dee]) hope that it be not mis- 
undcrsto(^d by the men who in the hard grind of their 
teaching still made time to be friends with their boys. 
May coming generations be blessed with such friendship 
as was ours though fn^n but a few. The city is full of 
those whose earliest inspiration came from two men, 
still c^f the Ccdlege, ever lal)oring and ever young — 
i\nd vou all know who the\' are. 



The Spirit of the College xxi 

The new College is a thing ot beauty and if we out- 
side read the signs aright, the new spirit will find many 
men who will feel the responsibility of building up 
character as well as giving knowledge. They will be in- 
spired by the noble men who thus saw their duty during 
fifty years. May one, high in the new order of things, 
forgive the indiscretion if I quote his saying to me 
when he was new to his task. Said he: "They want 
discipline — what I care about is those boys!" This 
was the spirit of the old College as it came to those of 
us who were greatly privileged. This is to be the spirit 
of the new College as it must come to all who have 
the power to feel it. Others will tell of it in the years 
to come. 

Men from sixty college generations have joined in 
the writing of this book that those who are to share in 
the new order may not forget the older days which 
were good days too. They have written of what they 
remember as the best things in the best time of their 
lives. They have written of the College for the men of 
the College in words of a common language. Read the 
record in the spirit of the writing. It is not intended to 
be history. It may furnish the material from which 
some day history will be written. Whatever else it 
is, it is human. If it err in being personal, forgive ! 
As men stir the embers of the fires of other years it is 
personality that burns with the brightest flame of 
fair memories. 



xxii The Spirit of the College 

It would be ci pleasant task to thank by name those 
wht:) have helped to make this book. But their names 
are man}' and the help was finely given. So be it 
said. 

When the time of moving to the new buildings 
seemed to be coming near, the Associate Alumni 
resolved to preserve the memory of the old buildings 
and the life within their walls in photographs of every 
detail that could be taken by the camera. These 
pictures will be mounted in frames prepared by the 
architect and placed on a suitable background at the 
new College. From man\' Alumni came requests for 
copies. It was then decided to publish most of them 
in a book with suitable reading matter. The hearty 
co-operation of the Messrs. Putnam has made this 
possible. May they accept this word of appreciation. 

The writer speaks in his own person that 
he maA' have the privilege of saying for the men of his 
College that the\^ owe a debt of thanks to the last man 
who would ask for thanks. By the labor and devotion 
of his working fellow-editor, this record was accom- 
plished of the life of the Benign Mother whom we 
would praise as we love her. 



Respice 

The College of the Past 



The College of the Past 

Richard R. Bowker, '68 

^^T OOK forward and not backward" is a wholesome 
counsel in the conduct of life. But an institu- 
tion must be judged somewhat in the light of its past, 
from which its present has developed and which empha- 
sizes to some extent its future. " Respice — Ads pice — 
Prospice," the motto suggested by Prof. Charles E. An- 
thon for the College of the City of New York, tells the 
whole story, and in the critical change in the affairs 
of the College of which this volume is a memorial, it 
is peculiarly fitting that there should be first of all a 
retrospect of what the College has been as we look for- 
ward to what the College is to be. 

The story of public education in New York City 
is almost an epitome of the history of its general devel- 
opment in this country. Public education was first 
a matter of private enterprise, and it is interesting to 
note that the earliest provisions for it had to do with 
the higher education. This was especially true in New 
York. King's College was in fact a child of the State, 
and when, in 1784, after the Revolution, "the Colledge 



4 The College of the Past 

of the Province of New York," as it was also called, was 
revived as Columbia College, under which name it is 
to-day making New York the seat of a great university, 
it was at first proposed to call it definitively the State 
College, and eight State and city officials were included _ 
in its governing body. Its munificent endowment of 
24,000 acres was a gift of the province, made in 1767, 
and when, in the early part of the nineteenth century, 
after the cession of those lands to Vermont, this was 
replaced by the magnificent estate in the upper part 
of the city which is the foundation of its present for- 
tune, the State added also a money donation of ten 
thousand dollars. In recognition of its origin, Col- 
umbia has always made provision for free scholarships 
for boys from the public schools; but it was, and still 
is, under certain restrictions of a particular religious 
denomination, and the time soon came when public 
opinion demanded that the city of New York should 
include, in its system of public education, a collegiate 
institution free in every sense of the word. 

Public education on the elementary side received 
its first development in New York at the hands of a 
voluntary association of citizens, the old Public School 
Society, whose noble work was really the foundation of 
the magnificent system of grammar school instruction 
which exists in New York to-day. That Society was 
started in 1804, and it was not until 1853 that its 
"public-schools" and the ward schools were united 
into one system, under the control of the Board of 




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The College of the Past 7 

Education, organized on lines not dissimilar from those 
of the present Board. The schools of the Society, 
intended originally as charity-schools for the poor, had 
proved so excellent that the children of the rich also 
knocked at their doors, until at last the people were 
glad to undertake the responsibility of providing for 
their support by public taxation, and making them a 
place where the rich and the poor should indeed meet 
together. In the meantime, from as early as 1826, 
there had been proposals for a Latin school, a high 
school, a normal school — the movement assuming dif- 
ferent phases with different years. It was after the 
organization of the Board of Education, however, that 
definite steps were taken for the foundation of that 
institution for the higher education which has since 
become the College of the City of New York. Town- 
send Harris, whose name is interestingly associated 
with the earliest American relations with Japan, has 
been properly regarded as the real founder of the 
College, as is acknowledged in the naming in his honor 
of the first of the new college buildings to be finished. 
It was on his motion that a committee was appointed 
July 27, 1846, to report upon a plan which took final 
shape when, under a legislative act of May 7, 1847, "the 
people of New York, in the school and judicial election 
of June, 1847, decided, by a vote of 19,455 to 3409, 
that they would establish the New York Free Academy. 
In November, 1847, "^he building for the Free Academy 
was commenced, and on the 15th of January, 1849, 



8 The College of the Past 

one hundred and forty-three boys, picked representa- 
tives of the public and ward schools of New York, 
assembled in the chapel of the completed building as 
the first class of the Free Academy. The original build- 
ing still stands, with its curious buttresses and corner 
turrets, at the corner of Lexington Avenue and Twenty- 
third Street, a monument to New Yorkers of a city 
frugality which has not been the rule in later years. 
The building should be doubly famous from the fact 
that it cost actually two thousand dollars less than the 
appropriation of fifty thousand dollars, and that its 
cost per cubic foot, nine cents, was less than that of any 
building for public purposes ever erected in New York 
City. The cost of the ground was but twenty-five 
thousand dollars, making the total investment, includ- 
ing furnishing, considerably less than one hundred 
thousand dollars. Except that the stucco and paint, 
which gave it a make-believe effect of stone, have of 
late vears been removed, and the brick construction 
honestly shown at the surface, the building is to-day 
what it was sixty years ago; and, although the attend- 
ance at the College has doubled several times, as college 
generations have passed, it still serves for the main 
work of the institution, with the additions only of a 
laboratory building to the east, and a class-room 
building with a Natural History hall, which takes up 
some of the space originally the "yard." But it is no 
longer above the centre of population as once it was, nor 
can its professors and students look across green fields 




Lexington Avenue FAgADE. 
Showing on the right the house in which President Webb resided for many years. 



The College of the Past ii 

southward, over Gramercy Park; westward, beyond 
Madison Square; northward, to Rose Hill, now Twenty- 
seventh Street, with its few houses; and eastward 
clear to the East River. Nor can the boys go home 
"across lots," at the venture of a fracas with the roughs 
frequenting Stuyvesant Square, nor steal away for 
a half hour for a swim in the unfrequented river. The 
city long ago outgrew its bounds of those days, and has 
moved northward beyond the imagination of any man 
of the '40's, and soon the College will no longer be 
"cribb'd, cabined, and confined," on its old site in 
narrow quarters. 

From the beginning, the school officers who proposed 
the Academy, the legislature which authorized it, the 
people who established it, had held firmly to two ideas 
which were clearly set forth in the report of the first 
Executive Committee for the government of the Acad- 
emy. They meant to establish an institution which, 
on the one hand, "in the character, kind, and value of 
the education imparted, should be inferior to none of 
our colleges," and on the other, "should be so organized 
that the course of studies to be pursued would tend to 
educate the pupils practically, and particularly qualify 
them to apply their learning to advance and perfect the 
operations of the various trades and occupations in 
which they may engage, and to furnish peculiar facil- 
ities for instruction of the highest order in the various 
branches of knowledge omitted altogether, or not 
practically taught, in our colleges." These two ideas 



12 The College of the Past 

are developed in the original course of studies. ' ' This 
institution," said those who drew the curriculum, 
"unlike other academies, is intended to be a substitute 
for both the academy and the college, offering to its 
pupils the means of general education now furnished 
by both these institutions together. Its course of 
studies, therefore, should be liberal, and embrace those 
both of the ordinary academy and the college. ' ' These 
purposes were furthered by prefixing to the usual four 
college classes a fifth class, known originally as the 
Introductory class, and later as the sub-Freshman, 
which was really a connecting link between the schools 
and the college proper. Throughout its development 
the College has not only held fast to these ideas, but it 
has been saved b\" them from aping a university, and 
from running riot in elective studies as so mam^ of its 
sister colleges have done. It has held to the belief that 
during the academic and early collegiate years the 
student's work should be planned for him by those 
competent to survey the general field of education, as 
the student himself is not. Only in the Junior and 
Senior years are "electives" permitted. But from the 
start the College has ingeniously met the diverse needs 
of students of diverse aims by providing, in place of 
optional studies, alternative curricula, each assuring a 
broad acquaintance with general knowledge, but spe- 
cializing in the specific direction of the choice of the 
student or his parents. From the beginning, therefore, 
there were a classical course and a scientific course, to 




o 



The College of the Past 15 

which later was added a mechanical course. The origi- 
nal distinction was that the ancient languages (with 
one optional modern language) included in the classical 
course were replaced in the scientific course by three 
modern languages. The students of the respective 
courses were commonly known as the ' ' ancients ' ' and 
the "moderns," which was indeed a more correct 
nomenclature. In later years the two courses de- 
veloped on more distinctive lines. A mechanical 
course was established, which, while omitting a few 
of the studies in the other courses, embraced actual 
shop practice in the use of tools, as well as studies in 
mechanical theory. 

The course of studies originally outlined included in 
the first year elementary Latin, which elsewhere was a 
part of the academic preparation for college, the ele- 
ments of a modern language, book-keeping, phono- 
graphy, and drawing— certainly an unusual combination 
of studies for that day. 

In another sense, the College was the child of West 
Point, and it adopted West Point traditions of strict 
discipline and the importance of higher mathematics, 
of drawing, and of thorough training in English. Its 
first president, Horace Webster, was a graduate of 
West Point in the class of '18, and its first professor 
of mathematics, Ross, was also a West Pointer. The 
organizers of the College were indeed fortunate in 
gathering, as the first faculty, a remarkable body of 
men. In those days class instruction was given almost 



1 6 The Colleee of the Past 



fe 



entirely by the professors, and their personal influence 
was therefore direct and efficient. The first president, 
who ruled with a rod of iron for twenty years, is re- 
membered by his students for his distinguished bear- 
ing, his high faith in the future of the College and his 
earnest devotion to its interests, his strict, indeed 
dogmatic, views of discipline, his wholesome intoler- 
ance of laziness and carelessness. 

"Ye students think how great a man is he 
Wlio can at once Horace and Webster be," 

was the amusing tribute of the college poet ; but ' ' the 
Doctor ' ' was rather a combination of Cato and Andrew 
Jackson. He stamped his mark indelibly on the College 
and upon the students of his time, as a man who looms 
up in memory as the years go by. 

The first president was succeeded by General Alex- 
ander S. Webb, another graduate of West Point and a 
veteran of the Civil War, and these two men, Webster 
and Webb, in the presidential chair, span the whole 
history of the College up to 1902. In that year General 
Webb retired, and Professor Alfred G. Compton, an 
alumnus of the first class to graduate from the College, 
served as acting president of the institution for a year. 
In September, 1903, Dr. John H. Finley, formerly presi- 
dent of Knox College and later professor of politics 
at Princeton, was inaugurated as president on the same 
day with the laying of the corner-stone of the College 
of the future on St. Nicholas Heights. 

The faculty, consisting originally of ten men, has 




The Lexington Avenue Entrance 

This entrance has for sixty years been held sacred for visitors and the instructing corps. 

The diamond-shaped window immediately over the door sheds light into 

" Cana's den," the tiny office of the sore-tried Registrar. 



17 



The College of the Past 19 

been enlarged again and again with the growing needs 
of the institution, until to-day it includes twelve pro- 
fessors who are heads of departments, fifteen associate 
professors, and ten assistant professors. These, more- 
over, are assisted by a staff of instructors numbering 
over a hundred and forty. 

The relation of the College to New York life is 
thorough and vital. Its fifty-seven classes have given 
more or less training to about thirty thousand students, 
and though its 2659 living alumni (out of 29 11 in all) 
are found from Maine to California, and in such distant 
centres as London, Beirut, Foochow, Sidney, and 
Hawaii, over two thousand are recorded as remaining 
in New York City, and probably a thirtieth of the 
entire male population of the city, above the age of 
fifteen, have been students in the College. Nearly 
every family in New York, except among the latest 
immigrants, has had directly or indirectly some know- 
ledge of the advantages of the College, and it is there- 
fore not surprising that one of the several attacks made 
upon it was met by a memorial in its favor signed by 
fifty-five thousand citizens. Many of its students come 
from the poorest classes, the fathers working harder 
that their boys may have a "better chance" than them- 
selves, and of these many are the children of foreign 
parents who speak little if any English, for whom the 
public schools and the College are the living link be- 
tween the bright future which they seek for their 
children, and the dark past from which they have 



20 The College of the Past 

escaped. Of late years foreign names have been more 
and more predominant on the roll and among the honor 
men — direct proof of the assimilating influence of our 
public school and college training, and of the peculiar 
value of the chair of English in the Cit}' College. The 
students lack dormitory life, but as an offset they are 
constant centres of unconscious development in their 
own homes, when the}^ belong to the less developed 
part of the community; and the continued association 
in the schools, in the College, and in business life has 
developed friendships which knit together usefull}^ a 
great many of New York's most effective citizens as 
the men of no other college are knit together. 

The same influence has been exerted usefully upon 
and through the public school SA^stem, although the 
College has not even yet developed its full powers as a 
guiding force in our system of public education. The 
Citv College has been virtually a normal college for men, 
and in this way has also greatly influenced the public 
school system. Three members of the Board of Edu- 
cation (and numerous ex-members) beside many of 
the superintendents, principals, and male teachers in 
the city schools, and professors and instructors in the 
College, are City College men. More than twenty per 
cent of its graduates have returned to be teachers in 
the public schools which educated them, and the College 
has also sent professors to Yale, Columbia, Princeton, 
Johns Hopkins, Pennsylvania, California University, 
the Stevens Institute, Roberts College (Constant!- 




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The College of the Past 23 

nople), the Anglo-Chinese College (Foochow), and 
other universities and educational institutions. 

For many years the entrance examinations at the 
College offered annually an opportunity of test and of 
contest which aided in keeping the several public 
schools well up to the highest standards. The masters 
of the upper classes made personal reputations through 
the boys whom they sent up to college, a fact which 
proved usefully stimulating throughout the public 
school service. For many years admission could be 
obtained only through the public schools, a premium 
on these city schools which since 1882 has no longer 
been felt necessary, and the writer is one of many who 
passed a year in public schools for the express purpose 
of entering the College. Many boys came up for exam- 
ination simply to obtain the credentials which the 
certificate of admission afforded, and many others, 
unable to take time for the full course, have had a year 
or more of college training to their permanent benefit. 
The large number of boys who have had this partial 
advantage, in comparison with those who have achieved 
their degrees, is one of the best proofs of the usefulness 
of the College. The entrance examinations, at first 
oral, were soon made written, as the throng became 
too large to be handled orally; and of recent years the 
ancient custom has been perforce abandoned entirely 
and students are admitted on presentation of a public 
school certificate of graduation. All applicants, how- 
ever, must still survive one of the former tests. They 



24 The UoUeo^e of the Past 



are given a probationary trial of eight weeks, during 
which those who would be absolutely in the way of 
their fellow-students are definitely weeded out. The 
written examinations, which demand good si)elling 
and good form in writing as part of their requirements, 
have done much to safeguard the College against the 
deficiencies in the elementary branches as to which 
there has been so much recent complaint from our more 
famous colleges. An applicant w^as formerh^ required 
to be fourteen years of age, and a resident of the cit}^ 
of New York; he must "i)ass" in writing, spelling, the 
English language, arithmetic, geography, the history 
of the United States, and industrial drawing. These 
are all "common sense" studies. At the entrance 
examinations which were held in June, the applicants 
often exceeded twelve hundred; no one was permitted 
to be ])resent save instiTictors and Trustees, and the 
examiners were permitted to know the candidates 
and their papers only by numbers. 

As soon as the student entered, he was in past years 
subjected to a discipline unusually strict. The first 
president had military ideas as to certain routine 
virtues, such as punctuality and application, which have 
remained fundamental ])rinciples in the College. Every 
student must be punctually in his seat at "chapel," so 
called; no "cuts" were allowed, and if a student were 
absent for whatever cause for more than one day in a 
term, he was obliged to make up his lost work by 
examination. In fact the whole theory of the College 




The Janitor's Office 
The Second Generation of Bonney's. 



25 



The Colles^e of the Past 



't> 



centres on what a man does, not on what he might do 
if he had not been late or absent or at other disad- 
vantage — a faithful premonition of the hard tests of 
life. A two weeks' oral and written examination, in 
January, reviews the work of the first term; a similar 
examination, in June, extends over ten days and is 
mostly in writing. 

The system of demerit marks long in force, some- 
what childish in one sense, had a certain advantage in 
keeping before men the fact that conduct and punctu- 
ality, as well as scholarship, are to count in after life. 
One hundred demerit marks in a term, or 175 within 
the year, caused a student to be dropped from the rolls. 
Recently Dr. Finley has done away with the demerit 
system and established a reliance upon student honor, 
a harmony between instructor and instructed, which 
is more in consonance with modern educational ideas. 

Through the early years the college day always 
opened with the "chapel exercises," over which the 
first president presided with an iron will for twenty 
years. Beyond a reading of a chapter in the Bible, 
which gave opportunity for mischievous Freshmen 
to replace "the Doctor's" bookmark, so that for days 
at a time he read over the chapter on Shadrach, Mesh- 
ach, and Abednego, there has been no distinctively 
religious feature. But punctually at 8.40, on pain of 
"five demerits" if late, each student was required to 
be in his place, duly noted by the "head of the section," 
and listen to "senior oration," "junior oration," and 



28 The College of the Past 

"sophomore declamation." The Doctor's "Time's 
up ! " was the awful conclusion to the unhappy student 
who took more than his allotted five minutes for stam- 
mering speech or too prolific rhetoric, and his "That 
will do" imposed a still more awful penalty on the 
unfortunates who forgot their "orations," which had 
always to be delivered memoriter. The chapel, which 
occupies the entire top of the building, remains to-day 
almost as it was at the beginning, except that then but 
a portion of it was occupied by the students, whereas in 
later years only a portion of them could be crowded 
into its S])ace and some of the sub-Freshmen assembled 
elsewhere. It has been the scene of a good part of the 
college pranks. A dog or a goat would occasionally 
appear among the subjects for instmction and the 
coat-rooms ranged under its eves were a place of refuge 
from wrath to come. One of the corner-rooms com- 
municating with the turrets, which reach from bottom 
to top of the building, was the scene of the college legend 
of "the striped trousers." The chapel was used in 
early days for the ' ' study-hour ' ' of the students who 
had no recitation specified for the time, and once an 
enterprising group let one of their number down by a 
rope through the turret, to the astonishment of a 
professor and his class, as a pair of striped trousers 
kicked their way vigorously through the little window 
placed in the turrets for purposes of ventilation. The 
professor immediately aroused "the Doctor," and both 
together started on a search for the culprit. By the 




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The College of the Past 31 

time they had reached the corner cloak-room and 
obtained entrance through the barricaded door, the 
wearer of the striped trousers had found time to 
exchange with some other of the party and the man who 
was promptly identified by the professor as promptly 
swore out an alibi. 

When in 1861 the war swept over the country and 
carried away on its crimson flood the flower of our 
youth, the College had graduated but eight classes, and 
had perhaps two hundred alumni. Of these two hun- 
dred, some forty went to war, and the class of '61 and 
succeeding classes gave up their best men. A modest 
tablet in the College commemorates the sacrifice of 
Grey, Wightman, Crosby, Van Buren, Young, Keith, 
and Elliott, the last the valedictorian of his class, facile 
princeps among the men who had up to that time 
graduated. When Elliott fell on Lookout Mountain, 
the most brilliant man the College had yet produced 
sacrificed a life full of promise. The name of Weed, 
who fell on the second day at Gettysburg, is not on the 
tablet, because he was credited to West Point and is 
commemorated in its chapel. Others, like Tremain, 
Van Buren and McKibbin, won their stars as brevet 
brigadier-generals, and as commanders of military dis- 
tricts aided to restore order to the country they had 
aided in saving for the Union. While these men were 
in the field those remaining did their duty at home. 
Professor Wolcott Gibbs in especial being one of the 
foremost men on the Sanitarv Commission. The war 



32 The College of the Past 

had also its effect on the college course. West Point 
textbooks on military engineering and on ordnance 
and gunnery were introduced, and these studies re- 
mained in the curriculum for some years after the war. 

In 1 866 the original title of the New York Free 
Academy was changed by the Legislature to the Col- 
lege of the City of New York. The change recognized 
the real standing of the institution, but happily it did 
not affect its combination of high school with college. 
The Introductory class remained as the sub-Freshman, 
affording to boys who otherwise would be in schools of 
an academic grade the considerable advantage of 
direct intercourse with and oversight from the college 
faculty. The professor of chemistr\' and phvsics, for 
instance, delivered two lectures a week throughout the 
year to the boys of the sub-Freshman class, and thus 
interested them directh' in science; and other profes- 
sors had also more or less direct relations of the same 
nature. The course of studies has developed somewhat 
from time to time, but the wisdom of the founders 
has been shown by the fact that it has required so little 
change to keep the College "up to the times." The 
most important change during many years was the 
development of a mechanical course with work-shop 
practice under the charge of Professor Compton. 

Long since the College has outgrown its shell, but 
the old building was admirably arranged for its original 
purpose — the whole top floor the "chapel," an impres- 
sive, pillared room, with nave and aisles and great 




Twenty-third Street Entrance. 
Through this doorway have passed over sixty successive classes of students. 
More than once dehnquents of a Httle learning have scrawled across 
its yawning front: "All hope abandon ye who enter here." 



33 



The Colleere of the Past 35 



'&) 



dows at either end; the other stories divided by a 
main hall lengthwise and a stairway hall crosswise, into 
four divisions, each containing two or three spacious 
lecture-rooms. On the first floor these four sections 
are given respectively to the president's and faculty 
rooms, the library, the chemistry lecture-room, and the 
laboratory. The basement floor gives janitor's rooms, 
store-rooms, and workshops for the mechanical course. 
Curiously enough, "Room No. i," in which for his en- 
tire term President Webster, as professor of philosophy, 
delivered his lectures to the Senior class, was in these 
depths, occupying the space now devoted to the work- 
shops. But the spacious class-rooms had soon to be cut 
up, one after another, into smaller rooms to accommo- 
date the increasing throng of students. In 1870 an 
additional building, including, besides recitation-rooms, 
a gathering-place for the lower classes, and a good 
natural history hall, was erected, and an extension to 
the main building has also afforded opportunity for a 
better laboratory in which students can do individual 
work. But with all these makeshifts the College has 
been cramped at every turn. The excellent library, con- 
taining above 37,000 volumes, became almost useless 
by lack of space, and the collections, containing 75,000 
specimens, have been housed here and there about the 
buildings to the very last corner, while valuable physi- 
cal apparatus suffered equally for want of room. With 
the new provision for the city's great educational 
institution, it should be possible to put these several 



36 The College of the Past 

collections at the service of the public as well as of the 
students proper, and it is to be hoped, also, that the 
college buildings may become a centre of university 
extension, and thus increase the vital relations of the 
College with the population of the metropolis. 

When the College opened, its site was more than a 
mile above the city's centre of population, and in 185 1, 
two years later, only 57 out of its 382 students 
lived north of Twenty-third Street. At the turn of the 
centurv the old site was more than a mile below the 
city's centre of population, and that population was 
several times what it was in 1848. Forty years ago it 
was proposed to move the College uptown, to where 
the Seventh Regiment Armory now stands, or to 
Reservoir Square. Both of those sites were already too 
far downtown, and the movement for removal took 
final shape in a plan for a site well to the north, about 
where the centre of population will be in the early part 
of the present century. The old college site, which even 
^\ith the addition of the Twenty-second Street plot, 
cost only $37,000, is now valued at a dozen times that 
amount. It was "manifest destiny" that the College 
should take part in the northward movement of all our 
educational institutions. 

One by one the alumni of the College and then 
other citizens of otir metropolis began to recognize the 
pressing needs of this their favorite educational insti- 
tution. Their united efforts resulted finall}' in 1895 in 
the passage of a bill by the State Legislature which 




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The College of the Past 39 

authorized the erection of the new college buildings 
now standing on St. Nicholas Heights. A thousand 
obstacles, some foreseen, others unforeseen, delayed 
the acquirement of the site and the construction of 
the buildings. Meanwhile the crowded conditions in 
Twenty-third Street became unbearable. Rooms were 
partitioned off by curtains in the chapel; classes recited 
in the old "faculty room," once reserved solely for the 
deliberations of that august body. Finally even the 
library, already overflowing, was pressed into service, 
and a class-room partitioned off among its shelves. 

The first definite move toward relieving this con- 
gestion took place in 1899, when the authorities leased 
for the College the upper floor of the two-story addition 
to the Metropolitan Life Building on Twenty-third 
Street between Fourth and Madison avenues. To 
this temporary annex were transferred ten "sections" 
of students, and the groaning floors of the main building 
found some slight relief. 

The respite was but brief. Other changes were 
impending about the College, sufficient to make the 
year 1900 an epoch in its growth, a year as important 
as that which brought to it the name and dignity of a 
college. 

In 1900 was passed the law which removed the 
College from under the supervision of the New York 
Board of Education and placed it under trustees of its 
own. These trustees were made ten in number, nine 
to be appointed by the mayor of the city, the other 



40 The College of the Past 

to be the president of the Board of Education. This 
was dreaded by some as holding within it a possi- 
bility of the weakening of the associations connecting 
the College with the public school system, a danger 
which fortunately has proved illusory. On the other 
hand, it withdrew the College from the care of a 
large group of overworked gentlemen not always in 
sympathy with its needs, and placed its guidance in 
the hands of a compact body of select men, several 
of them its own alumni, and all devoted to its welfare. 
The advantages of this more concentrated control 
have been made most happily manifest not only in the 
construction of the new college, but in the government 
of the old. Modern education had made such advances 
that a change notable and far reaching was being forced 
upon the College from without. High schools had been 
established by the city and, their four-year course of 
study being only a single year shorter than that at the 
College, the older institution was brought into obvious 
competition with the new ones. Moreover, colleges 
ever}^where throughout the country were being sharply 
separated from the so-called "secondary schools" and 
were demanding four years of high school study as a 
preliminary to ' ' college " work. The extra pressure put 
upon students at the City College, and the more numer- 
ous hours of recitation, had long been held to make the 
course equivalent to a more extended one elsewhere, 
but the discrepancy was growing too great. Finally the 
New York State Board of Regents warned the college 




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The College of the Past 43 

authorities that unless the course was enlarged the}^- 
would refuse to recognize the college degrees. Under 
this urgency changes were made. The old plea of 
heavier work was still admitted, and in consequence 
the Regents did not ask that the course be extended to 
eight years, but agreed that seven were sufficient. 
They also approved of the change being made gradually. 
It began its operation in 1900. The students entering 
in June, 1899, and graduating in 1904 formed the last 
five-year class. The practice was begun of admitting 
the public school graduates twice a year, in February 
as well as in June. A class was thus begun in February, 
1900, and graduated in June, 1905, after five and a 
half years. The class of 1906 spent six years in the 
institution; that of 1907 entered in February, 1901. 
Not until 1908 will the graduating students have had 
the full seven years' tuition. And after that the College, 
since it has continued the policy of welcoming students 
in February, must face the problem of graduating them 
in that month also and possibly having two "Com- 
mencements ' ' each year. 

This change has of course greatly altered the old 
system at the College. The former "sub-Freshman 
class" has been extended over three years and is 
known as the "academic department." Its entering 
class is known as lower C, then, after six months, as 
upper C, then come lower and upper B, and lower and 
upper A. From A there are regular graduation exer- 
cises and a formula of admission into the four-year 



44 The College of the Past 

course of the College proper. Professor John R. Sim 
has been made "professor in charge" of the academic 
department. 

This increase in the number of the lower grades has 
resulted in a temporary displacement of the centre of 
gravity in the College. There are many lower-class 
students; while in the upper classes, spread apart to 
cover the gap between five years and seven, the men 
are comparatively less numerous. But this dispropor- 
tion w^ll balance itself in another two years, and 
the classes resume a more normal relation as to size. 

Turning again to the practical conditions which the 
College faced in 1900, one can readily imagine how the 
increasing number of classes accentuated the crowded 
condition of affairs. The annex in the Metropolitan 
building soon proved too small, and in February, 1901, 
the building was abandoned and a larger one was leased. 
This new annex, known as the Cass building, was sit- 
uated on the north side of Twenty-third Street (No. 209) 
between Third and Second avenues. During the period 
of shifting, afternoon sessions were held in the old 
buildings; and then the Cass building was put hurriedly 
into use with temporary paper muslin partitions mark- 
ing off the rooms, and with instructors' voices ringing 
from end to end of the crowded floors. The new annex, 
when arrangements were completed, had space for over 
a thousand students; yet within a year it was over- 
crowded and still further room required. A second 
building, the Beach, was therefore leased (Feb., 1902) 






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The College of the Past 47 

on Twenty-third Street between Lexington Avenue 
and Fourth. 

With these two annexes the College continued 
until 1905. But the two thousand students of 1901 had 
increased to three thousand and beyond. One night the 
Beach building was gutted by fire, and the expedient 
of afternoon sessions was perforce resorted to again. 
After that there was no escaping them, and the Cass 
building had regular afternoon classes from one o'clock 
till five. 

Fortunately the uptown structures were approach- 
ing completion. The Beach building was abandoned in 
the spring of 1905. Townsend Harris Hall was made 
ready for some portion of the academic department, 
and in September, 1905, began the gradual transference 
of the students to their new home. Onh' the academic 
A's and B's were sent there at first; and students and 
instructors worked amid the clang of hammers, without 
doors to their rooms, often without glass in the window 
openings. On cold days everybody was sent home. 

In September, 1906, the buildings were so far ad- 
vanced that it was possible for them to accommodate 
the entire academic department. All of those students 
were established there and the Cass building, last of 
the downtown annexes, became, so far as the College is 
concerned, a tradition of the past. 

The alteration in the length of the college course 
made necessarily an alteration in its course of study. 
After careful deliberation and consultation with the 



48 The CoUeg^e of the Past 



& 



faculty, the trustees separated the old three courses 
into five. These were established in September, 1901. 
Three led to the degree of B. A. and are known as the 
Language Course, Classical; the Language Course, Latin 
and French; and the Language Course, Modern. The 
other two, leading to the degree of B. S., are the Scien- 
tific Course, and the Scientific Course, Mechanical. 
Of these the first, third, and fifth may be regarded as 
enlargements of the old Classical, Scientific, and Me- 
chanical Courses. Still another scientific course has 
recently been added. 

With such training and with the thoroughness 
which has always been insisted on in every branch, it 
is no wonder that the City College man is distinctively 
a worker. The strict discipline and effective scholar- 
ship of the College are well shown in the after-record of 
its men, particularly in the professional schools of 
New York. Not man}^ of its graduates have become 
ministers, but the other professions have taken a good 
number, and these men have won a large share of the 
prizes in the New York professional schools. Of the 
college graduates studying in the School of Mines, in 
the years for which records are at hand, City College 
men numbered sixteen per cent, and took forty-three 
per cent, of the prizes. Perhaps the Civil Service exam- 
inations at the New^ York Custom House prove the 
most interesting test. A report of 1882 stated that 
' ' applicants educated at the New York Free Academ}- 
have been so signally successful that they have been 




K 



oj o 



M CO 4J 



The College of the Past 51 

placed in a distinct class." Out of 377 applicants up 
to 1880, fourteen were educated at the College; the 
general average of all applicants was 64 per cent. , against 
which the City College men had reached the average of 
82 per cent., the men of special technological education 
coming next with 80 per cent., those of other colleges 
following with 69 per cent., those of academic education 
with 68 per cent., those with free-school education with 
61 per cent., and those educated in business colleges 
with 59 per cent. Here is the best of evidence both 
that education tells in practical life and that the College 
of the City of New York has held its own in general 
education. 

The excellent mathematical and scientific training 
of the College was not only serviceable during the war, 
but has given its men an advantage in the army, and 
in engineering life and scientific work generally. Major 
Michaelis, of '62. who enlisted as a private in the first 
month of the war, was the first civilian to pass examin- 
ation for admission into the Ordnance Corps, one of the 
two blue ribbon divisions of the army, in which the 
honor men of West Point find place. Many of the stu- 
dents of the College after a partial course there have 
won their way by competitive examination to West 
Point or Annapolis, and thus, though lost to the College 
records, have taken its training into those fields of life. 
Cleveland Abbe, at Washington; Ira Remsen at Balti- 
more; Edward W. Scripture at Yale; J. Bach Mc- 
Master at Princeton; Bashford Dean and Charles L. 



52 The College of the Past 

Poor at Columbia; Robert F. Weir at the College of 
Ph}-sicians and Surgeons; Charles Derleth at the 
University of California ; Frank Schlesinger at the 
Meadville Observatory, and W. E. Geyer at the Stevens 
Institute, are among the men who stand in science as its 
representatives . 

The College has no domiitory life, but it has strong 
society spirit. In the early days the " Amphilogian " 
set the example which was followed by the "Clionian" 
and "Phrenocosmian," the two literary societies of 
to-day, which semi-annually meet in joint debate in the 
college chapel in contention for a prize. The Amphilo- 
gian limited its membership to the first class, but its 
men for several years kept up the memory of the past 
by a rowboat excursion to Riker's Island, where they 
* ' celebrated ' ' under the shade of cedar groves which 
are now no more. The first Greek letter society, 
the Sigma Xi, was also a '53 society, but later 
came Alpha Delta Phi, Delta Kappa Epsilon, Phi 
Gamma Delta, Theta Delta Chi, and others of more 
recent date, in which fraternities the New York 
chapters have taken a prominent part. In opposi- 
tion to these the Manhattan League, one of the 
anti-secret societies, was early established, and later 
a chapter of the Delta Upsilon. For the present the 
secret societies have no oj^position societies, but the 
one evil which is associated with them, the domination 
of college politics, has never been marked in the City 
College. The most distinctive student organization. 




H bo 

< W 






The College of the Past 55 

perhaps, was the so-called "Senate," which was 
an endeavor by the present writer with others to 
establish, in 1866, a form of self-government among 
the students, which afterwards took root and grew to 
success at Amherst, Michigan, and other colleges. This 
was probably the first attempt of the kind; but it was 
vigorously repressed by the first president, whose mili- 
tary methods permitted of no democratic independence. 
Among Dr. Finley's recent progressive efforts has been 
the re-establishment of this old idea in the shape of a 
"students' council." This is composed of representa- 
tives from all the college classes, and already it takes 
no small part in the control and guidance of the student 
body. The Gamma chapter of New York of the Phi 
Beta Kappa was established at the College in 1868, 
only Union College and the University having at that 
time chapters of this venerable but not very secret 
society. Soon afterwards the Delta chapter was 
established at Columbia and now a number of the 
leading colleges of the State have charters from that 
honored fraternit}^ of scholars. 

In athletics the City College has not made a great 
name for itself. Fort 3^ years since, before baseball 
had become professionalized, its nine held the cham- 
pionship among the college clubs with which it had 
come in contact, and the Harlem and Passaic rivers 
afforded opportunity for very amateurish boat-clubs 
and "excursions." Twenty 3^ears ago its lacrosse 
team stood deservedly prominent among college 



56 The College of the Past 

teams; and to-day its basket-ball players are 
achieving a temporary glor}*. But the fact that the 
College recruits itself largely from the poorer classes 
has perhaps made impossible the development of a 
set of men who could give themseh'es chiefly or 
largely to athletics. Clubs of manv kinds, for music, 
chess, cross-country nmning, natural history, etc., 
have flourished more or less. 

The City College, though it has never attempted a 
''school of journalism" has always been more or less 
a school for journalists, and several of its men have 
gone into that profession, partly as a result of their 
training as editors of college publications. The "Cos- 
mopolitan" and the "Free Academy Monthly." pub- 
lished so long ago as iS6i, were among the earliest 
college magazines, and "The Collegian" of iS66, 
conducted bv the present writer, was one of the earliest 
examples of modem college journalism proper. Another 
paper of the same name was started in 1S75. ^^"^^ i^ 
1876 "The College Echo" was issued. Xone of these 
papers survived the college life of their first editors, if 
so long; but in March. iSSo. appeared the first issue of 
"The College Mercury." which is still in existence and 
which has been one of the most creditable of college 
journals. The early "Collegian" and the later "Mer- 
cury" both showed so much independence that their 
editors were more or less subject to criticism and disci- 
pline of the authorities. But the "Mercury" has now 
outlived seven college generations and is so organized 




First Floor Corridor, Looking South. 
This shows the heads of the two stairways rising from the basement. 
To the right is the Trophy Case and the entrance to the hbrary 
and offices. Along the southward corridor are the frames in which 
students' marks were formerly posted. Above these are por- 
traits of former professors. Overhead is the ancient bell, to ring, 
which was once the highest ambition of disorder. 



The College of the Past 59 

as to insure a safe prospect of continuity. Besides 
these papers the College has had an unusual number 
of skits and burlesque papers, under various names, 
and its student literature also includes an annual 
devoted to the various societies, known as "The Micro- 
cosm," and a considerable supply of song-books, bur- 
lesque programmes, and the like. It is a pity that a 
full collection of the earlier among these student publi- 
cations was not preserved in the college library, for a 
first aim of a college librarian should be to provide the 
most complete collection possible of the student as well 
as the official publications of the college. In 1904 was 
started the " City College Quarterly," an alumni pub- 
lication of which Professor Lewis F. Mott, head of the 
department of English, is now the editor. The solid 
nature of the Quarterly, and of the alumni support 
behind it, gives promise of its permanence. 

The College is very large in numbers, having at the 
fall opening in 1906 over 3,900 students. The lower 
classes have always been the largest, for the severity 
of the course soon results in the "survival of the fit- 
test" only. It takes a really able man to complete the 
work. Moreover, this decrease in numbers is, in another 
sense, an essential feature of the relations of the College 
to the communit}^ and suggests how many boys come 
to it for such collegiate education as they can get, and 
drop out necessarily to take their places in the work-a- 
day world. The College gives them plenty of work 
while thev are there, for one of its statisticians has com- 



6o The College of the Past 

puted that the total hours of actual college work, namely 
2960 hours in the four collegiate classes, is larger in 
the College of the City of New York than in any other 
American institution. Yet many of the students earn 
their education by the hardest kinds of work. A num- 
ber, of course, pursue a frequent plan of college students, 
in giving lessons of one sort or another, but others 
among past or present students have really lived two 
lives, one of stud}-, one of work. One student earned 
his living b}- a milk wagon round before the college day 
opened; another sold morning papers ; another notable 
example acted as night watchman in a store in which 
he lodged, and gave private lessons to earn food and 
clothes; another worked half the night in tlie post- 
office and yet maintained a high standing in his class. 
Other students, as waiters in summer hotels or tele- 
graph operators during the summer, have made it 
possible for them to become college graduates. The 
Associate Alumni as an organization early founded a 
Students' Aid Fund, which is in the hands of five 
trustees. Professor Compton, Professor Sim, John 
Hardy, Everett P. Wheeler, and Ferdinand Shack, 
From this fund loans are made to students, to be re- 
paid in later life. 

The college A'ear runs on steadily, with a break for 
the first tenii review examinations, until it culminates 
of course in the high festival of Commencement Week. 
This is enlivened by the prize debate between represen- 
tatives of the college literary societies, by the prize 




First Floor Corridor, Looking toward the Library. 
Pictures of many graduating classes are grouped along the walls. Profes- 
sor Draper's portrait is on the left. At the extreme end is the 
ancient registrar's "den." 



6i 



The College of the Past 63 

speaking, by the social meeting of the Associate Alumni, 
and by Commencement itself, when the extraordinary 
number of prizes and medals which have been showered 
upon the College by would-be benefactors are distributed 
from the stage to the heroes of the hour. These prizes 
include gold and silver Pell medals, for general profi- 
ciency; gold and silver Cromwell medals, for history 
and belles-lettres; the twenty bronze Ward medals; 
the two gold Riggs medals, for English essays; the two 
gold and silver Claflin medals, for proficiency in the 
classics; the Ketchum prizes, for excellence in philoso- 
phy; the Devoe prizes, for handicraft; the Mason 
Carnes prizes, for translations from modern dramatic 
literature, and other prizes almost beyond number. 
The six honor men who represent the college training 
as orators of the night usually show to the large 
audiences which crowd Carnegie Hall good common- 
sense results of. their course, and as a matter of fact 
few citizens of New York, who either in this way or by 
more careful observation learn what the College of the 
City of New York really is, would fail to desire that 
this institution should have the means for growth and 
progress which will keep it at the forefront in the 
work which it has been organized to do. 



The First President 



65 



Horace Webster— the First President 

Everett P. Wheeler, '56 

TJ GRACE WEBSTER was the first president of the 
College of the City of New York, which in his 
time was known as the New York Free Academy. Its 
original name was suggested by that of the Military 
Academy at West Point, and it was very natural that 
its first president should be a West Point man. 

Dr. Webster was born in Hartford, Vermont, on the 
2ist of September, 1794. This little village stands in 
the beautiful Connecticut valley. In the New England 
States at that time Vermont filled the place which was 
afterwards taken by the far West, and enterprising 
emigrants, especially from Connecticut, Massachusetts, 
and New Hampshire, found their way into the fertile 
valleys of what afterwards became the Green Mountain 
State. Webster's parents were of this hardy and 
courageous stock. When he was born the Constitution 
of the United States had just been adopted. Into the 
more perfect Union thus effected Vermont was ad- 
mitted in 1 79 1. The boy grew up amidst a proud, 
high-spirited race of mountaineers. He knew the men 

who had fought at Bennington and Saratoga and he 

67 



68 Horace Webster — the First President 

learned to feel, as they felt, the blessings of the Union 
and the necessity of a strong central government which 
should ensure to the people domestic tranquillity and 
efficient administration. 

He had his first lessons in the free district schools of 
Vermont. He received an appointment as cadet at 
West Point about the close of the war of 1812. He 
graduated in 18 18 at the head of his class and was 
appointed assistant professor of mathematics in the 
Military Academy, which post he filled until 1826. 
There he imbibed those lessons ' ' of work done squarely 
and un wasted days" which he inculcated in the Free 
Academy, and which have been its unbroken tradition 
from that time to this. 

His success as an instructor at West Point was so 
signal that in 1826 he was appointed the first professor 
of mathematics and intellectual philosoj^hy at Hobart, 
then Geneva, College, which place he hlled from 1826 
to 1848. He was always a strict disciplinarian, and 
could not tolerate any neglect or indolence in his stu- 
dents. In his sharp, quick, military manner he would 
snap up the man who came to the class-room without 
preparation, excei:^t that derived from his inner con- 
sciousness. On the other hand, he loved the faithful 
student, encouraged him in every wa}', and was always 
readv after graduation by every means in his power to 
aid the graduate to achieve success. 

When in 1848 the Free Academ^^ was about to begin 
its work, the Board of Education selected Horace 








69 



Horace Webster — the First President 71 

Webster to be its first president. He served the city 
faithfully in this capacity for twenty-one years. In 
1849 he received from Columbia College the degree of 
Doctor of Laws. He was made Professor of Moral and 
Intellectual Philosophy in 185 1 and was the instructor 
of the Senior class in those subjects, as well as in the 
Constitution of the United States. Moral Philosophy 
he taught from Wayland, Intellectual Philosophy from 
Mahan. The latter was a West Point man, the father of 
Captain Mahan of the Navy, and he put into his book a 
clearness of statement and vigor of thought that were 
bracing to the mind of the student and harmonized 
well with Webster's precision and thoroughness. In- 
struction in these subjects was, however, but a small 
part of the activity of Dr. Webster. In co-operation 
with his faculty he established an organization and 
system of discipline, the object of which was to bring 
into harmonious activity the boys who came from the 
public schools, and to set before them such a standard 
of excellence, both moral and intellectual, as should 
develop their characters and make them fit for the 
conflict of life. In this he certainly succeeded. 

He was the soul of honor and integrity, and he 
taught his students to feel that their aim should be 
"to maintain the honor of the flag"; to scorn every- 
thing that was mean, and to do their duty as good 
citizens and true men. 

The curriculum of the City College has always 
been exacting. To a degree unusual in colleges, it has 



72 Horace Webster — the First President 

combined instruction in the sciences, with classical and 
literary training. This combination has in practice 
proved most useful. No college has produced a larger 
proportion of manly and efficient citizens. Much of the 
honor is due to the skill with which Webster planned 
the course and the fidelity with which he administered 
his office. 

His faults were the defects of his qualities. He was 
sometimes too much of a martinet, too precise in little 
things, but he was always just, would always listen to 
what the student had to say, and did aim to stir up all 
that was manly in the breast of the young man. The 
ground of his character was his religious spirit. He 
was unobtrusive in this, but loyal and sincere. He was 
for twenty years a communicant in St. George's Epis- 
copal Church, and for several of those years was a 
Vestryman and Superintendent of the Sunday School. 
The distinctive principles of the Gospel of Christ 
were dear to him and he strove to embody them in his 
life. 

In 1869 he gave up his active participation in the 
college work and retired to Geneva, where he died July 
12, 1871. 

Dr. Webster married Sarah M. Fowler of Albany, 
March 28, 1827. They had three children who grew 
to maturity: Horace, who was born in 1832 and died 
in China in 1865; Margaret Stevenson, who was born 
in 1840 and died in 1903 ; and Edward Bayard, born in 
1842, who is still living in Geneva. 




The Library Corridor, Looking East. 

A reverse view of the earlier picture. The entrance to the library is in the 

fore-ground to the right and the president's office to the left. 



73 



Horace Webster — the First President 75 

The resolutions adopted by the class of 1872, 
November 17, 187 1, are worth preserving: 

We, members of the class of '72, now the last in college who 
have enjoyed the benefits of Dr. Webster's administration, would 
express our sorrow for his death, and our appreciation of his 
many admirable qualities. 

In the course of twenty-one years of generous labor, he had 
so identified himself with the College, that his loss is sincerely 
regretted, and it is in recognition of his worth and of our regard, 
that, in this memorial, we would recall the career of one whose 
memory we cherish, and whose influence, wherever exerted, has 
left its indelible impression. 

Recognizing in his devotion to the interests of education, in 
his fidelity to his trust, and in his sterling excellence, a life well 
spent, we would reverence his memory and " be of good cheer; 
for he hath prevailed." 

In behalf of the class, H. D. Cooper, 

H. VAN Kleek, 
S. J. Strauss, 
J. B. McMaster, 
R. VAN Santvoord. 

A public meeting in commemoration of his services 
in the cause of education was held in St. George's 
Church, November 17, 187 1. Addresses were made by 
the pastor, who was familiarly known to many of the 
men of his time as "Old Dr. Tyng," and also by the 
Chancellor of the University, Dr. Howard Crosby. 

Perhaps there is no better statement of his char- 
acter than that given by another West Point professor, 
Davies: 



76 Horace Webster — the First President 

Few men have left behind them a nobler record. He had a 
great work assigned him, and he lived long enough to perfect it. 
He will be long remembered as an able educator. His academic 
life was marked by a love of knowledge, which grew and strength- 
ened with his years; by habits of study, early formed and long 
continued; by a firm and gentle manner, which commanded 
obedience and won regard ; by a sense of justice never weakened 
by fickleness or passion; and by a punctuality in the discharge 
of every duty which was an admonition to the heedless, an 
encouragement to the orderly, and a beautiful example to all. 

This notice would be incomplete without reprinting 
from the " Hobart Herald" an amusing incident of 
Webster's professorship there: 

In the morning, both summer and winter, all the students 
were rung up to prayers in the chapel and for a recitation before 
breakfast. But there was an occasion when the morning prayer 
was made to suffer. It was a bright summer morning when the 
sleepyheads appeared in the chapel in their usual hasty toilet 
of the early hour. But the sleepyheads were suddenly waked 
up and the eyes were opened quick and wide at the spectacle 
which saluted them. For behind the breastwork on the platform 
stood tied as in a stall, an old street horse. Outside and in front 
of him sat the faculty, Prof. Webster in their midst. He looked 
with his thought-reading eyes at the students as they came in, 
one by one, and wholly ignored the presence of the quadruped 
behind him. As for the students, they looked only at the horse. 
Prof. Webster was a West Point disciplinarian, and as though 
nothing was more agreeable to him than to have a horse there, 
he proceeded with the morning devotions. The recitation 
followed the prayers, every man carefully and innocently in his 
place. After breakfast, it was felt that something must be done. 




The Library, West Exd. 
The main part of the Ubrary, choked with books and cases, lies to the left. 
The distributing desk and shelves of the deputy librarian, Mr. Bliss, are 
in the background. It is there that everybody applies for information 
of every kind. 



77 



Horace Webster — the First President 79 

Strengthened by the matutinal meal, all gathered together in the 
chapel to do it. And so the poor animal was led by the halter 
to the hall and fairly, but with difficulty, " graduated" hind end 
foremost down the stairs and into the open. The feat was 
accomplished with hearty cheers for the only horse among the 
many of a longer-eared race that had gone through college. 

It seems also appropriate to add to this notice a 
characteristic letter from Geneva which he wrote to 
James R. Doohttle, who afterwards became United 
States Senator from Wisconsin: 

My dear young Friend: 

I have just had the pleasure of receiving your letter of the 
19th inst., requesting my assistance in getting you a situation in 
New York, etc. I will write to Mr. Foot, as you desire, imme- 
diately, and communicate you the result when received. 

There are a great variety of openings in New York, yet if 
they are desirable and such as a young man of talents and 
acquirement would desire to occupy, they are almost immediately 
filled by young men in the city, or in the neighboring vicinity; 
besides the influx of foreigners is so great at this time that even 
those who are well educated solicit places temporarily for a bare 
subsistence and submit to impositions which one who has 
breathed the independent country atmosphere could never do. 
I mention this to 3^ou lest you be too sanguine in your expecta- 
tions and finally fail. I shall give Mr. F. such a recommendation 
of your capacity and integrity that no doubt he will exert him- 
self much for you; perhaps he may desire a clerk in his own 
office. Would it not be best for you to spend two years in the 
country in a law office and the last year in the city? I am by no 
means decided in my own mind, whether I would advise a young 
man to go to the city for employment ; quite half that go there 



8o Horace Webster — The First President 

from the country are ruined. A young man of industry and 
correct habits will succeed anywhere and be distinguished, yet 
it is true the field is rather more extensive in the city than in the 
country, still the chances for failure are greater in the former 
than in the latter. 

Be moderate in 3^our expectations, yet severe in 3^our atten- 
tion to duty in whatever situation you may be placed, and suc- 
cess must attend you. 

AVe have thirty scholars in the College at present ; ten in the 
Freshman class. Our medical school goes into operation in 
February. With this I send you a catalogue of officers, etc. I 
shall be very glad to hear from you frequently and be useful to 
you in any manner in ni}^ power. 

Please circulate our course of studies. 

Your friend, etc., 

Horace Webster. 

As I close this memorial I seem to see our old 
"Prex," standing on the platform of the Gothic chapel, 
at the top of the Dutch stadthaus, that was the first 
home of the Free Academy, and which we soon are to 
leave. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with erect, mil- 
itary figure. His voice was clear and not unmelodious. 
He read the selection from Scripture (often from the 
book of Proverbs) with a decisive intonation that 
showed he felt it to be the very word of command. We 
dispersed to our recitation-rooms, which then were com- 
modious. The total number of students in my time 
was less than five hundred, and there was room for all. 
The old Doctor's minute requirements were often irk- 
some. But all were proud to have such a fine looking 




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Horace Webster — the First President 83 

gentleman to preside on public occasions. We attached 
to him the mot that first was applied to Lord Thur- 
low — No one was ever so wise as the Doctor looked. 
Even those who most were irked by his discipline 
could not, in their hearts, but respect his integrity 
and simplicity of character. Blessed be his memory. 



The First Faculty 



85 



The First Faculty 

Alfred G. Compton, '53 

/^N the 27th of January, 1849, "the New York Free 
^^ Academy was opened to the people of the City 
of New York with public exercises in the chapel of its 
recently finished building. On this occasion Mr. Robert 
Kelly, the President of the Board of Education, intro- 
duced to the audience the first Faculty of the Free 
Academy, consisting of the following gentlemen: 

Horace Webster, LL.D., Principal. 

Edward C. Ross, Professor of Mathematics and 
Natural Philosophy. 

Gerardus B.Docharty, Assistant Professor of Mathe- 
matics and Natural Philosophy. 

Theodore Irving, Professor of History and Belles- 
Lettres. 

John J. Owen, D.D., Professor of the Latin and 
Greek Languages and Literature. 

Oliver W. Gibbs, Professor of Chemistry. 

Jean Roemer, Professor of the French Language. 

Agustin J. Morales, Professor of the Spanish 
Language. 

Theodore Glaubensklee, Professor of the German 

Language and Literature. 

87 



88 The First Faculty 

Paul P. Duggan, Professor of Drawing. 

These are the men who are always in mind when 
an\' student of the first three or four classes speaks of 
the Faculty, and the addition of Professors Nichols, 
Benedict, Barton, Anthon, Koerner, and Doremus and 
their successors extends the old Faculty down to the 
mid- way Faculty, and so on continuously down to the 
Faculty of thirty-one members of the present day. Of 
this first Faculty, at whose feet I sat for four years 
and whose friendship I enjoyed till the days of their 
deaths, I have been asked to give such account as I can. 

Horace Webster was a man of strong and imposing 
aspect, with thin lips, lofty forehead, piercing eye, and 
erect carriage, wearing the air of a master. And a 
master he was, at least of the students, for many years 
from that winter of 1849. He was not a great orator; 
his speech was crisp, exclamatory, blunt in figures, 
devoid of ornament. But as a giver of laws he was 
respected and obeyed. It must not be imagined that 
the boys never outwitted him. They did sometimes — 
but they often thought they did, when he knew very 
well what they were about. When he walked one day 
into the drawing-room and found the assembled plaster 
gods and heroes, from Ulysses down to Dante, each with 
a clay pipe in his mouth, his turning out of the room 
without a word was not because he did not note the 
undignified demeanor of the gods, but partly, I think, 
because he did not choose to enter on a hopeless inquiry, 
and still more because he was almost exploding with 




Prof. Ross in '50. 
Prof. Roemer in '58. 
Prof. Gibbs in '63. 



Prof. Glaubenskee in '58. 
Vice. Pres. Owen in '58. 
Prof. Docharty in '58. 



Prof. Irving in '52. 
Prof. Morales in '58. 
Prof. Duggan in '60. 



The First Faculty 91 

mirth which he wished to conceal. This tact was, I 
believe, as important a factor in his discipline, especially 
during the earlier years of his government, as his firm- 
ness, and many instances might be cited in which the 
just balance of these two traits was shown. 

Dr. Owen, I think, was not famous like his president, 
for strenuous government. I speak here, not from my 
own observation, for this is the one member of the old 
Faculty in whose class I never sat. He governed by con- 
cession. I never heard that he gave "demerits," though 
I suppose he did, for that was the established mode of 
government in those early days. I imagine that he 
looked at an offending boy, and brought him to order 
by a few serious words, accompanied and emphasized 
by the ominous waving of his long index finger. For 
that finger certainly did wave, at times, in an impres- 
sive manner. Often have I heard. one or another of his 
pupils quote: 

" Honor and fame from no condition rise; 
Act well your part, 't is there the honor lies," 

swaying his index finger in imitation of his master 
and fashioning his voice in supposed likeness of 
the. master's orotund speech. But Owen was not a 
gay man, even by contrast with Webster, and Webster 
with all his apparent austerity had far more fun in his 
temper. Owen was a scholar and a clerg3^man, and he 
wore something of the seriousness of both. 

Ross was different from both of these. Tall, a little 



92 The First Faculty 

awkward, but erect and dignified, with a forehead like 
an imposing dome, and a keen eye which held you with 
a kindly glance, he was, during the short period of his 
academic life, the favorite of the students. He taught 
in the Academy only two years and three months, when 
he died, at the age of fifty-one, after only a week's ill- 
ness, and in the prime of his life and strength. He was 
personally known only to the classes of '53 and '54 and 
a part of the class of '55; but his name was in the 
mouths of later classes than these, as if they themselves 
had personally known and loved him. What they used 
to say of him was that he made the rough places of the 
mathematics smooth, that the dull boy especially he 
led up the steep paths, trusting in the ability of the able 
student to get up with anybody's help, or even with 
none, that he kept no count of time, but was ready 
with effective help whenever and wherever it was 
asked, that he was always full of interest in his pupils, 
in their past achievements and in the promise of their 
future career; he was not only a great teacher, but he 
was the students' friend. 

Ross was professor, not of Mathematics only, but 
of Natural Philosophy, which was the name in those 
days for what we now call Physics. He died before 
the teaching of Physics began, and his place was filled 
by another West Point man, Lieut., afterwards Gen. 
W. B. Franklin. He accepted the position, during a 
furlough from West Point, and was succeeded by John 
A. Nichols, after having filled the chair only a few 




The President's Office, Looking North 
The judgment-seat stood facing the door in General Webb's day and the 
Genera] sat underneath where his portrait now hangs. In the 
anteroom we see to the left the remarkable electric clock, which is 
fabled to move slower than any other in the city. To the right is 
the most used telephone in New York. 



Q3 



The First Faculty 95 

months; but this short time was long enough for him to 
inspire the Senior class with a deep respect. His man- 
ner was quick, sharp, decisive, his questions were rapid 
and searching, and his tolerance for dullness and slow- 
ness was small. He returned to his work at West 
Point leaving a name spoken of with admiration by 
the few who knew him. 

Nichols, who followed him, though not from West 
Point, was appointed on the recommendation of Pro- 
fessor Davies, and continued the West Point influence 
on our mathematical teaching. He was a perennial 
spring of kindness and good temper, yet he could lose 
patience once in a while under adequate provocation. 
He would spend any amount of time on the difficulties 
of Bartlett's "Analytical Mechanics," a tough volume 
just introduced from West Point where it was born, and 
he had plentiful sympathy with those who could not see 
through all its puzzles at the first trial, though very 
little with those who made no trial. The pleasant 
influence of his sweet temper and kindly voice were with 
us till the fall of '68, when he died, after a long struggle 
with consumption, and he bridged over the space from 
the Old Faculty to the New. 

"The pirate Gibbs, " as the much admired Professor 
of Qiemistry was approvingly called by his pupils, was 
perhaps the strongest man in the Old Faculty, and he 
is the only one who still lives. Black-haired, black 
bearded, black eye-browed and moustached, tall, erect, 
quiet, firm, he was known to us all as a man devoted 



9^ The First Faculty 

to scientific research, not very fond of teaching, but 
teaching clearly and well, marking severely but fairly, 
looking on the lecture-room demonstrations which used 
to be called "experiments" with mildly tolerant 
impatience and not infrequently apologizing for their 
failure after the3^ had been carefully prepared. From 
his chemical lecture-room, which was the identical 
lecture-room of to-day, he retreated to his little labora- 
tory under it on the basement floor, where all metallic 
things iiisted, — even aluminium and gold ones I believe, 
— and we wondered where and how he brought forth 
those chemical laws enunciated in his papers on the 
" Cobalt bases" and so on, whose titles mystified us, his 
pupils, but inspired the respect of his scientific col- 
leagues throughout the land. When invited to Harvard 
he exchanged the teaching of the rudiments of chem- 
istry for the investigation of its laws, and has since 
been living the life he dreamed of in his youth. 

Gerardus B. Docharty was not the solemn and for- 
midable mathematician his first name might suggest, 
but rather more the joking, hilarious Irish gentleman 
prefigured in the second. In his eye was always a 
mischievous smile, on his tongue a joke or a "sell." 
He was always ready to help inquiring students over 
rough places in their Latin, or their French, and they, 
on the other hand, often carried to their Latin teachers 
such puzzles as "Gallus tuus ego et nunquam animam," 
which after brief inspection were declared to be "some 
of Docharty 's nonsense." He was a good though not 



The First Faculty 99 

perhaps a great teacher; but the boys loved him for 
his geniality and good nature and his patience with 
their blunderings, and cheerfully pardoned the rude 
treatment the skin of their faces sometimes received 
when he took a head between his hands and scoured 
a tender cheek with his scrubby gray beard. 

What a contrast to Docharty was Theodore Irving, 
nephew of the classical Washington Irving. A clergy- 
man, with the manners of a well-bred and well-trained 
rector of the Church of England, a well-dressed, cour- 
teous, well-spoken gentleman, never hurried, never 
impatient, never, I think, very enthusiastic, he neither 
over-stimulated nor discouraged his pupils, and I do 
not remember ever to have heard of or seen any dis- 
order, however slight, in his room, — a trait however, 
that he shared with almost every other member of the 
Faculty. 

I think we all felt that our Professor of Drawing, 
the lightly built Irish artist with graceful figure and 
movements, sharply but not cruelly biting critical 
tongue, and clear incisive speech, was most conspicu- 
ously, of all this Council of Ten, the man of his profes- 
sion. He developed, we men who could not draw used 
to think, most astonishingly the skill which seemed 
natural to some. Their large highly finished drawings, 
often from the flat, but also often from the heroic casts 
on our walls, and still more the white chalk figures of 
the same on the blackboards, sometimes the full 
height of the board, used to fill us poor bunglers with 

LOfC. 



loo The First Faculty 

wonder and envy; but we never thought of blaming 
him for that our bungling still went on. He gave us 
some hints on architecture which we alwa}'S remem- 
bered, pointed out some buildings that we always 
admired, and he made himself in art our master, as 
Ross did in mathematics, and Roemer in French. 

Our three masters in modern languages were as 
unlike as it was possible for three teachers to be. Roe- 
mer was really a "master" in all senses, a strong, 
firm, self-reliant man, never harboring any fears or 
misgivings — or perhaps rather, never showing any, for 
I have a notion that the strongest men have fits of 
timidity sometimes, — a man of the world, who impressed 
us with the feeling that he had seen all things, and done 
all things, and that he knew all things. We felt that he 
was a leader of men, that he had the art of impressing 
his opinions on them, and of taking up and supporting 
their opinions in such a way as to assist in making them 
effective — and when we afterwards became acquainted 
with him as a colleague, our estimate of him was con- 
firmed; we recognized him as a leader in the Faculty, 
a power in the government of the College. 

Such was not his mild little colleague Professor 
Morales. A timid, polite, yielding man, he was essen- 
tially a follower, as Roemer was a leader. He was the 
very soul of kindness and goodness of heart, to stu- 
dents as well as to colleagues. His rebukes to imper- 
fect students were mild expostulations rather than 
harsh censures, and almost anv kind of recitation would 






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The First Faculty 103 

command a passing mark. And yet it was always pos- 
sible to learn Spanish from him if one would, and many 
graduates of the College have profited greatly by his 
instruction. He was a man of the gentlest and politest 
manners, a musician of considerable skill, even in com- 
position, a writer who produced small plays for his 
pupils to perform and text-books from which they 
might learn, and a teacher who was beloved, not only 
by his best pupils, but even by the mischievous ones 
who played tricks on him. 

Glaubensklee, the Professor of German, .was cast in 
a heavier and rougher mould. Like Gibbs, he never was 
fooled or imposed on by students. His mastery was 
differently based however. When Gibbs came into a 
large study-room where three or four sections of stu- 
dents were ready for fun with any one who was afraid 
of them, with a scientific periodical or volume in his 
hand, he sat down and worked as if there were no boys 
there; but if student Smith began to talk to student 
Jones, Gibbs never failed to note it, and to bring both, 
and all other whisperers, to sudden order by the cry, 
almost without raising his eye from his book, "Stop 
talking there, Smith. " The boys were convinced that 
he had some inscrutable means of detecting disorder, 
and very soon gave up venturing to try it. Glaubens- 
klee commanded order just as easily, but more I think 
by the friendly bonhomie with which he was always 
ready to chat with them when off duty, either in the 
recitation-room, or wherever he chanced to meet them. 



I04 The First Faculty 

(^n the whole, this Faculty of the old College was 
a strong bod)- of men. There were among them sub- 
stantial scholars, great teachers, polished gentlemen, 
men of the world, strict disciplinarians who never 
allowed the least disorder, kindly governors with whom 
no student ever thought of disorder. The students 
respected them, in general loved them, studied for 
them, learned of them. Their departments were not 
so widelv expanded as they have since become, their 
course of studies was not so broadlv laid otit, but they 
gave a broad general training with but little election, 
which was recognized in those days as preparing young 
men to do their dut>' in \\-hatever career they might be 
called to follow. The Old Faculty left its perma- 
nent mark on the reputation and the traditions of the 
College. 



The Second President 



105 



The Second President 

Charles E. Lydecker, '71 

A LEXANDER STEWART WEBB, second president 
^ ^ of the College of the City of New York, was bom 
in New York City, February 15, 1835. His father was 
James Watson Webb, editor for many years of the 
Courier and Enquirer; a man of striking appearance, 
who bore out some of the so-called fire-eating tra- 
ditions of the fifties, in his newspaper career. He 
was an officer in the U. vS. Army, serving in the infantry 
and artillery over nine years, was U. S. Minister to 
Brazil from 1861 to 1869, ^^^^ author of the famous 
flag order, then promulgated. His grandfather was 
Samuel Blatchley Webb, an aide-de-camp on 
the staff of General Washington, who served from. 
Lexington until he was captured, and remained a pris- 
oner of war from 1777 to 1780, when he was released 
and commissioned Brigadier-General. His house in 
Connecticut was the meeting place of many distin- 
guished men. 

Our president was educated at private schools, and 



io8 The Second President 

entered West Point in 1 85 1 . from which he was gradu- 
ated in the class of 1S55. along with Gen. George D. 
Ruggles. Gen. A. T. A. Torbert. Gen. Wm. B. Hazen. 
and other able soldiers. 

Within a few weeks after gi'aduation, he was en- 
gaged in putting down the Seminole Indians in Florida, 
as an officer of artiller}'. and had some of the most 
exciting experiences of his life. 

After service in Minnesota, he became assistant 
professor of mathematics at the U. S. ^lilitary Acad- 
emy at West Point, and junior officer in Griffin's 
West Point Batterx'. Assigned by his regimental com- 
mander to Light Battery '"A." 2d U. S. Artillery. 
April I, 1 86 1, he proceeded under orders from the War 
Department with the batter\-. Capt. W. F. Bany com- 
manding, to Fort Pickens. Santa Rosa Island. Flor- 
ida. He was present at the tirst battle of Bull Run. 
and later accepted the appointment of Captain in the 
nth U. S. Infantry. In August he was ordered to 
report for duty in the Artillery Departinent of the 
anny afterwards designated the "Anny of the Poto- 
mac." Later in the same year, he was mustered into 
the U. S. service as Major, ist Rliode Island Light 
Artillery, and remained on duty at headquarters. Anny 
of the Potomac, as assistant to the Chief of Artillery, 
until appointed by the President, Assistant Inspector- 
General of the 5th Corps, with the rank of Lieutenant- 
Colonel. August 30, 1862. 

He was Assistant Inspector- General and Chief of 




_^. .e'^^p^ij^ 



109 



The Second President 1 1 1 

Staff of 5th Corps, to November, 1862, when he was 
assigned to duty with Brigadier-General W. F. Barry, 
Inspector of Artillery. He remained on duty in the 
City of Washington, as Inspector of the Artillery Camp 
of Instruction, Camp Barry, D. C, until January 18, 

1863, when he rejoined the 5th Corps as Assistant 
Inspector- General, reporting to Major- General George 
G. Meade. 

On June 21, 1863, he was appointed a Brigadier- 
General of Volunteers, and was assigned to duty with 
the 2d Brigade, 2d Division, 2d Army Corps, assum- 
ing command of that brigade the same evening. 

He was in command of the 2d Brigade until August 
nth; he then became temporary commander of the 
Division, which command he held until September 5 th, 
when he became its commander permanently, and so 
continued after its consolidation until incapacitated. 

Severely wounded in the terrible conflict at Spott- 
sylvania, May 12, 1864, he was absent sick to June 21, 

1864, when he was detailed to recruiting and court- 
martial duty to January, 1865. He then served as 
Chief of Staff to General G. G. Meade, Army of the 
Potomac, to June 28, 1865 ' ^^^ then as Acting Inspector- 
General, Division of the Atlantic, to February 21, 
1866. 

He returned to West Point as assistant professor, 
July I, 1866, and remained thereuntil October 21, 1868, 
as instructor in Constitutional and International 
Law. 



112 The Second President 

From March 4. 1861, he was present at the foUow- 
iiii:: battles and engagements: 

" Yorktown," as x\ssistant to Chief of x\rtillery, 
Anny of the Potomac. 

" Mechanicsville" (first). Acting Aide-de-Camp to 
General Stoneman. 

" Hanover C. H.." assigned to duty on Staff of Gen- 
eral Porter, tem]X)rarily, by order of Major-General 
McClellan. 

"Gaines Mill," General Staflf, assigned to General 
Porter's Staff, Army of the Potomac. 

"Seven Days," General Staflf, assigned to General 
Porter's Staff, Army of the Potomac. 

" Antietam," Chief of Staff, 5 th Corps. 

"Shepherdstown" affair. Chief of Staff", 5 th Ami}' 
Corps. 

' ' Snickers' Gap" affair. Chief of Staff, 5 th Army Corps. 

" Chancellorsville, " Inspector-General, 5 th Corps. 

"Gettysburg," Brigadier-General commanding 2d 
Brigade, 2d Division. 2d Anny Coi"ps. 

" Bristow Station," commanding 2d Division, 2d 
Corps. 

"Robinson's Tavern" and "Mine Run," command- 
ing 2d Division. 2d Army Corps. 

"Morton's Ford" affair, Febniary 6th and 7th. com- 
manding 2d Division. 2d Ami)- Coips. 

"Wilderness." commanding 2d Division. 

"Spottsylvania," commanding the consolidated 2d 
Division, 2d Corps. 




A Fraternity Corner in the Main Hall. 



113 



The Second President 115 

"Siege of Petersburg," Chief of Staff, Army of the 
Potomac. 

"Hatcher's Run," Chief of Staff, Army of Potomac. 

His leaves of absence before Gettysburg amounted 
to thirty-one days total. 

General Webb's letters from the field, written to his 
father, and other members of the family, are an index 
to the energy and patriotic zeal which infused him in 
the performance of his official duty. 

A letter from General William F. Barry, Colonel 2d 
Artillery, and Brevet Brigadier-General U. S. A., de- 
serves to be quoted in full, as testimony of the time. 
He says: 

In the first week of April, 1861, he was assigned by the War 
Department to duty in my Battery [A, 2d Regt. U. S. Arty.], 
and with it he embarked at New York for the reHef of Fort Pick- 
ens, Pensacola, which at that time was closely besieged by the 
rebel forces under Bragg, as was Fort Sumter by those under 
Beauregard. The expedition, as you are aware, was successful, 
and this most important military and naval depot was secured 
to the United States. In the labors of a hurried embarkation of 
guns and horses, in the care and preservation of the horses, 
during an unusually stormy sea-voyage, and in their difficult 
debarkation tarough the surf upon the open sea-beach of 
Santa Rosa Island, the Transport being anchored a mile from 
shore, he rendered me that intelligent, faithful, and energetic 
assistance that gave promise of the still greater soldierly qual- 
ities that distinguished him later in the War. 

He remained with my Battery as a lieutenant until Sept., 
1 86 1, rendering good service at the first Battle of Bull Run, 



ii6 The Second President 

and during the annoying and hazardous outpost duty which suc- 
ceeded. Having been myself appointed in Aug., 1861, by 
Maj.-Gen. McClellan to the duty of organizing and equipping 
the immense force of Artihery, which was deemed requisite for 
his Army, I selected him as my assistant, and assigned him to the 
duty of inspecting and instructing the volunteer batteries prior 
to their assignment to duty in the field with the Infantry Divis- 
ions. He entirely justified my selection, for in this laborious 
duty — running through a period of more than six months — he 
exhibited his characteristic energy, industry, and intelligence. 
To this he added so accurate a knowledge of the tactics, care, and 
uses of Artillery in campaign, as .well as in camps of instruction, 
and so thorough and judicious a manner of imparting his informa- 
tion to others, that I consider him the best inspector and military 
instructor I have ever seen. 

When I took the field with the Army of the Potomac in March, 
1862, he accompanied me as Inspector-General on my Staff. Dur- 
ing the siege of Yorktown — a period of thirty days — he was em- 
ployed night and day and most of the time under the fire of the 
enemy's position guns and sharpshooters. In the duty of disem- 
barking our heavy siege guns (100 and 200 pounds Parrotts, and 
13-inch sea-coast Mortars), and conducting them over boggy 
roads to their various positions, he labored assiduously, and in 
the special instance of running the heavy Mortars into the mouth 
of Wormley Creek, under a concentrated fire of the enemy's ar- 
tillery, he exhibited not only energy and high intelligence, but 
also very great coolness and gallantrv. 

Throughout the remainder of McClellan' s Peninsular Cam- 
paign, and especially at the Battles of Hanover Court House and 
Gaines Mill, he rendered efficient and gallant service. 

During the movement from the front of Richmond to James 
River — commonly called "The seven days' Battle" — he was 
everywhere conspicuous, and with such incessant industry did 




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The Second President 119 

he labor, that on the sixth day he fell fainting and exhausted 
from his horse. On the day before the Battle of Malvern Hill, at 
the critical time when the right flank of our entire retreating col- 
umn, with its long train of artillery and baggage, was exposed to 
the attack of the rapidly advancing enemy, he discovered and 
personally reconnoitred a hitherto unknown road into which 
the larger portion of the train was turned, thus saving it, and 
leaving the main road unincumbered for the manoeuvres and 
concentration of our troops when attacked by the enemy a few 
hours afterwards. 

In Sept., 1862, when I was assigned to other duties, he 
preferred to remain with the Army of the Potomac, serving suc- 
cessively as Inspector-General, 5th Corps, Commander of a Bri- 
gade, and afterwards of a Division in the 2d Corps. Not being 
an eye-witness of his services in these capacities, it is better that 
they should be described by those under whose immediate com- 
mand they were rendered. 

In conclusion, I beg to assure you that in all the soldierly 
attributes of subordination, intelligence, energy, physical endur- 
rance, and the highest possible courage, I consider him to be with- 
out his superior among the younger officers of the Army. I also 
consider that both aptitude and experience fit him to command 
— and to command well — anything from a Regiment to a 
Division. 

When General Webb received his brigade and his 
division, he fought them well. To quote from the 
Report of the Committee on Military Affairs of the 
U. S. Senate, concerning one incident: 

General Webb's conduct at Gettysburg, July 3, 1863, is par- 
ticularly worthy of mention. He was in command of the Second 
Brigade of the Second Division of the Second Corps, and had been 
with the color guard of the Seventy-second Pennsylvania Volun- 



I20 The Second President 

teers, of whom every man was wounded or killed. General Webb 
left the color guard and went across the front of the companies 
to the riglit of llie Sixty-ninth Pennsylvania all the way between 
the lines in order to direct the fire of the latter regiment upon a 
company of rebels who had rushed across the lower stone wall, 
led by the rebel general, Armistead. Thus General Armistead 
and General Webb were both between the lines of troops and both 
were wounded, but by this act of gallantry General Webb kept 
his men up tt) their work until more than one half were killed or 
wounded, in this action he was wounded by a bullet which 
struck him near the groin. General Meade, in his letter present- 
ing a uKHlal to General Webb, mentions this act as one not sur- 
passed by any general on the field. 

In presenting to General Webb a medal, which the 
Union League Club of Philadelphia catised to be stn.ick, 
one of a few replicas of the elegant gold medal presented 
to him, General George G. Meade, in November, 1866, 
wrote these strong words in an atitograph letter: 

In selecting those to whom I should distribute these medals. 
I know no one General Avho has more claims than yourself, either 
for "tlistinguished ])erson;d gallantry t)n that ever memorable 
field," or for the the cordial, warm, and generous sympathy and 
support so grateful for a Commanding General to receive from 
his subordinates. Accept, therefore, the accompanying medal, not 
only as commemorative of the conspicuous part you bore in the 
Great Battle, but as an evidence on my part of reciprocation of 
the kindly feelings that have always characterized our inter- 
course both otlficial and social. 

The brevets which General Webb received are an 
indication of the intensity of his army life. He was 
brevetted for "gallant and meritorious services" as 




Civil War Memorial Tablet. 

Erected in 1875 by the Associate Alumni to the graduated who perished in 

the Civil War. Overhead is President Webster's portrait. 



The Second President 123 

follows: Major in the battle of Gettysburg, Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel at Bristow Station, Colonel at Spottsyl- 
vania, Brigadier-General for services and gallantry in 
the campaign terminating in the surrender of General 
R. E. Lee, and later Major-General for gallant and 
distinguished services during the war; he was also the 
recipient of the Medal of Honor from Congress. 

After the war, General Webb served in various 
capacities in the work of restoring order, and was the 
Military Governor of Virginia, commanding the ist 
Military District, in 1866. 

On the retirement of Horace Webster, LL.D., from 
the Presidency of the College of the City of New York, 
in 1869, General Webb was sought, and upon the highest 
testimonials was given the office by its Board of Trus- 
tees. The Governor of the State of New York, John T. 
Hoffman wrote: 

"Your appointment to the presidency of the Col- 
lege of New York gives me much satisfaction." 

This was one of many expressions of feeling, shared 
by some of the most prominent of the citizens of the 
city. The College had always been moulded after 
the U. S. Military Academy, in its courses of study, par- 
ticularly in science and the mathematics, and a gradu- 
ate of that institute seemed to be a logical successor of 
Dr. Webster. 

It may fairly be said that in the fourteen years 
from 1855 to 1869, General Webb had had an experience 



124 The Second President 

of men, of vital problems, and of political agitation^ 
which few can parallel, and when he came to the task of 
presiding over a college faculty, and of guiding the de- 
stinies of the College, he was a man of very different 
mould and temper from the average instructor and 
trustee. Those who remember his first appearance 
recall a fairly slight, dark-haired, young-looking man, 
rather swarthy bronzed face, handsomely moulded 
head, erect upon a compact but nervous and active 
frame, displaying, possibly, an element of assertion, as 
of one who had assumed a command and was taking it 
up with vigor. His address indicated rapid and ener- 
getic action and the desire of an eager gentleman to 
give encouragement to success. 

The following, written in 1902, is a summary of 
General Webb's work as President: 

He promptly set about acquiring a grasp of the situation, and 
his report to the Board of Trustees in October, 1869, shows how 
early in his new position the path of the College was made 
thorny. 

The Board of Trustees had resolved in substance October 4,, 
1869: 

1 . To consolidate the chairs of English and of History. 

2. To consolidate the chairs of Mathematics and Mixed 
Mathematics. 

3. To require the President to teach all the Philosophy 
taught. 

4. To abolish all tutorships except one. 

5. To give professors $5000 per annum "in view of their 
increased duties." 




A Fraternity Corner. 
Northern comer of the main hall with portraits of Professors Nichols and Ross. 



125 



The Second President 127 

It must have astonished the new President to see how many 
ways there were of criticising and balking the work of the insti- 
tution. Of course the Trustees listened to reason and the 
arguments of General Webb, and did not do any of the things 
threatened. But they put a firm limitation on the broadening 
views of the professors and President, and every one settled 
back to the old work. 

The following statements appear fairly to be sustained by the 
records of the Board of Trustees: 

General Webb at once suggested changes in the course of 
studies, some of which were made in 1870. He recommended 
that German be put upon an equal footing with the French and 
Spanish languages, and that those in the lower classes be given 
an opportunity to study that language. Theretofore the study 
of German had been limited to the comparatively few who 
became Juniors and Seniors. 

He advised that the students of the Introductory class be on 
probation the first eight weeks, and that those who clearly showed 
their lack of preparation, or their indisposition to enter upon the 
College work, be dropped. This effective change was made 
and relieved the College greatly; it also improved the tone of 
the sections. 

He early advocated the enlargement of the classical sche- 
dule of studies, and this has eventually resulted in sepa- 
rating the classical and scientific courses very markedly, so that 
the graduates of the College now have no cause to regard 
themselves as stinted in their collegiate training in the ancient 
languages. 

In 1873, the Commercial Course was added to the College, but 
this was never regarded as of a character to warrant its associa- 
tion with the regular courses, and after a few years it was 
abandoned. 

In 1875, through the advocacy of Professor Compton, a post- 



128 The Second President 

graduate course in Civil Engineering was created, but no degree 
was ever favored b}- the President. General Webb had early 
founded a manual instruction course by which students were 
given an opportunity after hours to perfect themselves in the use 
of tools. Ultimately the Mechanical Course was incorporated 
in the College schedule in 1881. Originally this was a three 
years' course, but in i88g it was enlarged to a five years' course, 
and became a regular Collegiate course, yielding to graduates the 
degree of B. S. 

General Webb has always opposed those who considered 
young men in the Sophomore class ready to enter upon a pro- 
posed course of pedagogy. He was consistently opposed to the 
establishment of the Commercial Course, and his aim has always 
been to steady the work of the institution along the lines of its 
original foundation. He never believed that the average student 
attending College should be given early in the course too much 
indulgence in electives. 

When in 1S97 the High Schools were established and inaugu- 
rated as a part of the public education of the City by those whose 
aims appeared to be hostile to the College, the foresight of the 
President forced the establishment of a College High School by 
the subdivision of the entrance classes, and an extension of their 
courses, so as to maintain the supply necessary to keep the College 
alive. 

During the years 1895 ^^^^ i897< ^vhen the earnest and suc- 
cessful efforts of the friends of the College, led by its Alumni i\sso- 
ciation, were made to procure the legislation for a new site, there 
was no one who gave more continuous and intelligent application 
to the accomplishment of the work than the President of the Col- 
lege, never thwarting but always aiding that movement, and 
when finally in 1898 the supplementary act had to be passed to 
pro\Hde the additional sum of $200,000, General Webb's per- 
sonal aid on the floor of the Senate was instrumental in having the 







U 0) 

> 



Vi 
>. w 



The Second President 131 

bill taken up out of its course on the last day of the session, thus 
insuring its successful passage. 

It was an exciting moment, when, in the hurry and strug- 
gle and bustle of the last hours of the legislature, Mr. Ellsworth, 
the leader of the Senate, taking the distinguished President of the 
College on the floor of the Senate, and introducing him as the 
hero of Gettysburg, asked unanimous consent to pass (mt of its 
order the bill which had come from the Assembly after over a 
week's careful watching and urging, and in a few minutes the work 
of its adoption was done. 

General Webb was a conspicuous defender of the 
College from what he regarded as the injurious attacks 
of Universities — so-called "Universities in distress," 
whose aim and purpose was to invade the college classes, 
and get recruits from them for their institutions. Edu- 
cators the world over have come to know oi the exist- 
ence of those alleged benefactors, whose purpose is 
apparently more to benefit teachers and professors 
than the youth in search of education. 

In one of his papers, which was earnestly approved 
by Chancellor Anson J. Upson, of New York, and which 
embodies the argument he so long urged, he said: 

Colleges will differ according to their especial objects and loca- 
tion, but not in the essential lines of instruction. Every college 
graduate is to-day as good a man as any other college graduate, 
or he is, in his own estimation, a little better than any other col- 
lege graduate. The term is a well known one and we must respect 
the title, and see to it that ncj reputable college reduces its course, 
or changes its general course in a way to bring contempt on the 
Bachelor's degree. But the advocate of the elective course comes 
in and tells us that we are all wrong. Parts of oui' course studied 



13- 1 lie vSccoiul Prcsitlcnt 

in excess arc bclti-r for this man ami that man than the whole 
covirsc. 

One c-annot (."oncoix'o how t he jilan ]iro])osc(l conKl t<Mnl to 
])i"oihu'<' Iiarnion\- anii^l all thcs<' eondiet ini;' intiTcsts. AVe sin- 
ctit1\- (leploie that \\«? imist ilil'lVr eonscicnlionsly t"roni high 
authoritit'S in mailers wliieh i\'I\m" to the l>olie^• to \)c adopted by 
onr inslilulions o( hi^luM- education, hut, at this time, it is espe- 
ciall\- necessary to 1h- jilain simki'n ajjjainst inwisions of the 
present college course as arranged 1)\- the best minds of the coun- 
try, antl to ex])ress determined hostility to the abuse of the elec- 
ti\'e system, hvidini^" as it does to these discussions, when this 
systen; is applied to studiMits ni>t of the univcrsit)' i^rade. 

It ^\■otlKl ha\-e Ikvii s;i-;itif\iiii;" to CioiitM-al Webb 
and to hi,<; sliulcnts it" he cottUl 1ia\'o cottchtctod thoin 
to {he new C'\{\ ColloL^'o on iho lltMi^hts, Init a wave oi 
oppcxsition was fell Xo Ivat ai^ainst the ])rogress of 
aftaii^s nnJiM" ihc new rogitne in ic)0-\ whieh indicated a 
contest from \\lneh the i^entlentanh' instincts of this 
high-minded otticer shrank, and he l;iid d(Wti the office 
to retire to i">rivate h'fe. No less, lnnve\'er. do the great 
bod)- of stitdents who knew hitn dtiring his thirty-three 
years of leadership res]:)ect the ideal ^\■hieh he em- 
bodied, o( truth, loN'allw steadfastness, hotiorable am- 
bition, arnl rnatilitiess, eotii^led with gentiine collegiate 
scholarship, and failh in the tiscfithicss o( the first Cit^' 
College of the land, as a ]ieo])le's college. 

He fotmd the College with 768 sttiderits, and left it 
with io(>i). The latigttage of the sttidents' tribttte to 
him was; 

And we who ha\-e known the General si> wi^ll, will <.>\er reniem- 




C !? 



X o 



The Second President 135 

ber that noble, gentle face and kindly eye, reflecting as it does a 
heart "as big as the man himself." In him we have always 
found a staunch friend, a wise counsellor, a merciful judge. Slow 
to anger, steadfast in the right, dignified, courteous, noble, gen- 
erous, in fact an ideal man whom we all might well follow as a pre- 
cept and example, for it can truly be said of him, "He was a man 
the like of whom we shall not soon see again." 

These words at the end of his career as president 
may be placed beside the language of a distinguished 
graduate of the College, who wrote in November, 1870, 
as follows: 

If the right man getting into the right place ever fitted better, 
I am much mistaken. I believe most thoroughly in the need of 
the Doctor Arnold kind of man at the head of our great schools ; 
a man integer vUce, who shall be a model as well as an instructor 
or mere disciplinarian, and it has always been my regret, that the 
sons of our Alma Mater have been without such an one to pat- 
tern by; one whom it was easier to love than to fear, to reverence 
than to dread, a thorough man and universal gentleman. I 
think my ideal has been found. 

In conclusion, the College of the City of New York 
may always feel proud that its second president was so 
true and earnest a man, one incapable by birth and 
youthful training of ignoble or improper impulses, a 
man so fearless and successful in showing by deeds his 
character, and so upright an example to the many 
thousand students who came under his control. 

College presidents may be said each to represent 
some dominant trait, — Eliphalet Nott, the learned pre- 
ceptor of youth; Dr. McCosh, the sturdy Presbyterian 



J 



6 The Second President 



moralist; Dr. Barnard, a leader of education; and our 
President Webb was a manly example of heroic, patri- 
otic, and straightforward worthy actions. There was 
no "God of War" thought in his ]iersonality at the 
College, but his presence brought to youth a sugges- 
tion of consecrated greatness. 



The Later Faculty 



137 



The Later Faculty 

Adolph Werner, '57 

/^NE evening in July, 1852, five new professors deliv- 
^"'^ ered inaugural addresses to an audience of old 
professors, students, and citizens in the great hall 
(which was not then called chapel). The speakers were 
Charles Edward Anthon, Professor of History and Belles 
Lettres; John Graeff Barton, Professor of the English 
Language and Literature; Joel Tyler Benedict, Pro- 
fessor of Civil Engineering; Robert Ogden Doremus, 
Professor of Natural History, Anatomy, Physiology, and 
Hygiene; John Augustus Nichols, Professor of Natural 
Philosophy. And they began to lecture and teach on 
the ninth of September following. Professor Barton 
Avas thirty-eight years old, the others in the neighbor- 
hood of thirty. They have all passed away: Nichols 
in 1868, Barton in 1877, Anthon in 1883, Benedict in 
1892, Doremus in 1906. 

How they looked, at least how they looked each on 
some one day of his life, the crayon portraits on the 
walls of the old college building will have shown to the 
readers of this book. And how shall we portray in 

words what they were, their characters and their suc- 

139 



I40 The Later Faculty 

cesses? Everybe^dy remembers vi\-idly what Professor 
Doremus was during the forty }'ears of his occupanc\- 
of the chair of chemistry, to which on the resignation 
of its first occupant, Gibbs, he was transferred in 1863: 
an ardent devotee of science, a brilhant experimenter, 
an eloquent lecturer, an impressive teacher, a lover of 
art. poetry, and all leaniing. a man of the world. In 
his first professorship, he delivered annually courses of 
lectures on human physiology and hygiene, on ph^'sical 
geography, and on geology. Though these courses were 
brief, some consisting only of weekh" lectures during 
one term, they were impressive, giving the students 
an adequate notion of these sciences, or, let us say, a 
notion considered sufficient in those remote da^'s, when, 
as all college men know, the ideal and nature of a 
college course were not what they are now. 

Professor Anthon also was a scholar of more inter- 
ests and accomplishments than one. He was as deeply 
interested and as much at home in literature, classical 
and modem, as in histor\'. and his scholarship in both 
was thorough, extensive, and brilhant. For many 
years he taught the Sophomore class personally in 
modem European history and the Senior class in 
literature, giving usually, with the aid of Mrs. Botta's 
handbook, a survey of two literatures in the year. 

Professor Barton was. as the students saw him (and. 
no doubt, when thev did not see him\ a serious man. 
He was considered a strict man, not severe, but strict, 
kind, and kindlv. While he delivered few lectures, he 




Prop. Nichols in '58. 
I'Rof. Roemer in '89. 
Prof. Anthon in '58. 



Prof. Koerner in '6^. 
President Webb in '70. 
Prof. Doremus in '70. 
141 



Prof. Benedict in '66. 
Prof. Morales in '76. 
Prof. Barton in '69. 



The Later Faculty 143 

was a fluent and interesting talker, and, drawing upon 
a fund of information, supplemented the text-book 
generously. The student could count upon the pro- 
fessor's speaking a large fraction of the time; but he 
must also expect a searching examination of his own 
knowledge. Always, the professor held the attention of 
the class, and he always secured careful preparation 
of assigned lessons and performance of assigned 
work. 

Professor Benedict was, like Professor Barton, 
serious and strict, and in addition, frequently austere. 
He taught half a dozen Senior classes civil engineer- 
ing; not those who elected it, but the whole class. 
But while the early Boards of Education laid stress 
on the practical, meaning, presumably, preparation 
for such professions as the engineer's, the students 
were looking forward to law, medicine, the ministry, 
teaching, and business. 

After some time the department was discontinued 
and Professor Benedict was made Adjunct Professor 
of Mathematics, in which position he remained until 
1866. The next dozen years he assisted his wife in the 
management of a school; after her death he lived in 
retirement, with his books, his memories, and his 
thoughts. Mathematical brains are, at all events they 
were forty or fifty years ago, scarcer than, say, gram- 
matical; and a serious, strict, and occasionally austere 
teacher would not be adored by all his pupils, nor 
indeed by all his classes. But Professor Benedict was 



T44 The Later Faculty 

a fine mathematician and an excellent teacher — his 
Algebra was b}' many teachers and students called the 
liest of its day — and there were classes that swore by 
him. 

Professor Nichols — there is hardly any shading yet 
in the picture of the group exposed on that 1852 July 
evening — -and yet how could any one speak of Professor 
Nichols but with admiration and love? His genuine 
devotion to science and knowledge, his unwavering 
belief in education, his optimistic faith in the capability 
of the student mind, not everybody might share, but 
everybody must admire. Professor Nichols was an 
assiduous student all his life, while he was in health 
and when his health failed. Though cheerful — cheer- 
fulness is lovable — and ambitious to the close, he was 
sadly hampered during the last two or three years of 
his life by the disease to which he succumbed at the 
age of fortv-six. He did a noble piece of work in a 
span in w^hich onlv men above mediocrity accomplish 
anything memorable. 

The first president of the College was, as all Amer- 
ican college presidents used to be, Professor of Philos- 
ophy. Soon, in 1855, the institution had grown so 
large that he needed an assistant, and George Wash- 
ington Huntsman was appointed Assistant Professor 
of Philosophy. He taught the Sophomores logic and 
political economy, and later the Juniors intellectual 
philosophy or mental science, which comprised por- 
tions of what arenow called psychology and metaphysics. 




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The Later Faculty 147 

When President Webb succeeded President Webster, in 
1869, the president was reUeved of the work of teaching, 
and Professor Huntsman became Professor of Philos- 
ophy. He occupied the chair for ten years, when he 
retired. 

Dr. Hermann Koerner was in 185 1 appointed 
substitute for Professor Duggan, who was away on 
account of sickness. On Duggan's return a year later, 
a new department, Descriptive Geometry and Indus- 
trial Drawing, was created, evidently because Dr. 
Koerner was too valuable a man to lose and too vener- 
able a man for the rank of tutor. Venerable ? He was 
not yet fifty years old, but his hair was white, having 
turned so in a night during the Revolution of '48. 
Dr. Koerner was a political exile. He was, as every 
German of his generation was, a philosopher, and he 
preached idealism fifty years before Prince Henry of 
Prussia. He never acquired an English tongue, but 
made himself understood, and when, after the death 
of Professor Duggan, the two departments became one 
again, Professor Koerner even delivered lectures on 
esthetics, "Art and its division into Arts" he entitled 
the course. He was the first and for many years the only 
professor in the College who had the foreign degree 
Ph.D., as he was the first and for many years the only 
professor in the College who used the not yet natural- 
ized word Pedagogy. Professor Koerner added strength 
to the Faculty and was in many ways an interesting 
man, nor without a picturesque trait, not inappropriate 



148 The Later Faculty 

in an exponent of art. To the }'ounger students he 
seemed queer; the older students came to recognize 
the depth of his character and thought and to sympa- 
thize with his sentiments. Professor Koerner retired 
in 1877. 

Dr. John Christopher Draper followed Professor 
Doremus as Professor of Natural History. More hours 
were assigned to the department; physiolog}' could be 
treated more fulh', the study of botan}- and zoology 
was added, and — what is perhaps most interesting, 
seeing that it was done over forty years ago — blowpipe 
anah'sis, the experimental study of minerals by the 
students themselves in a rudimentar)' laboratory, was 
introduced. 

Professor Draper was not apt to overrate the young 
men and their performances; yet he did not fail to 
discover ability and merit and to recognize them cheer- 
fully. Two weeks before his death, in the spring of 
1885, — though he had no premonition and was evi- 
dentlv talking without ulterior purpose, — he spoke to 
a colleague of his ex]^erience in the College and of his 
relations with the students. "They have been good to 
me, they have always treated me well." Let the 
students' estimate of the professor implied in his praise 
of them stand in place of other opinion; it seems 
sufficient. 

When in 1869 Professor Owen died the pro- 
fessorship of Latin and Greek was divided, and 
Jesse Ames Spencer, S. T. D., the well-known clas- 




Prof. Huntsman in '70. 
Prof. Scott in '80. 
Prof. Newcomb in '84. 



Prof. Draper in '70. 
Prof. Fabregon in 1902. 
Prof. Spencer in '86. 
Prof. Mason in '89. 
149 



Prof. Sturgis in 'Si. 
Prof. Hardy in '94. 
Prof. Woolf in '80. 



The Later Faculty 151 

sical scholar, was elected Professor of the Greek Lan- 
guage and Literature. He occupied the chair ten 
years. 

David Burnet Scott was principal of the grammar 
school which had been sending the second largest 
classes to the College when in 187 1 he was appointed 
Principal of the Introductory (sub- Freshman) Depart- 
ment. Then the first attempt at the separation of the 
academic department was made. 

The building on Twenty-second Street had, in these 
first years of President Webb's administration, been 
erected and arranged for the accommodation of the 
sub-Freshmen. The top floor, later known as Natural 
History Hall, was the assembly room and portions of 
it were recitation- rooms during the day. The young 
boys did not disturb the scholastic calm of the 
main building; they never entered it except when they 
came, under supervision, to the first floor to listen to 
Professor Doremus and behold his magnificent experi- 
ments. When Professor Barton died, in 1877, Professor 
Scott was elected his successor — and no new principal 
was appointed. 

Professor Scott had long been a student of English 
literature and had lectured thereon with marked suc- 
cess to the teachers' classes instituted by the Board 
of Education before the establishment of the Nor- 
mal College. He continued to evince during the 
Seventeen years of his professorate — he died in 1894 — 
the same traits of intellectual keenness and force, the 



152 The Later Faculty 

same individuality and personal strength which had 
characterized him as a principal. He made himself 
felt among men, and he exerted a strong influence on 
bovs and young men. 

George Benton Newcomb succeeded Professor 
Huntsman in the chair of philosophy in 1879 ^^^ served 
the College until his death in the fall of 1895. Professor 
Newcomb was a native of New York and a graduate of 
Williams College. For some years after graduation he 
was a journalist; then, for a series of years, a clergyman, 
the pastor of a church in a Connecticut town. He 
taught the Junior and Senior classes personally, the 
former in economics and law, the latter in psychology 
and the history of philosophy. He was a scholarly 
man, endeavored to get his students both to think and 
to read, and generally succeeded. In addition to de- 
hvering lectures and appointing and hearing lessons 
in text-books, he set individual students individual 
tasks and gave them individual opportunities according 
to their abilities and needs. He was seldom seen on his 
way to and from college without his satchel, in which he 
carried the books and pamphlets for this individualized 
instruction and the papers which the students wrote 
— indeed, were proud to write — at the periodical exam- 
inations or tests scattered through the term, which he 
held to a greater extent than had been customary in 
his department or was customary in most departments. 

James Weir Mason was Professor of Matheniatics 
from 1879 ^^ 1902. He was a graduate of our own Col- 




The Chemical Library. 
Private room and library of the Chemical Department, for fifty years the 
sanctum of Professor Doremus. 



153 



The Later Faculty 155 

lege in the class of 1855. The twenty-four years between 
his graduation and his return, he spent partly as a 
teacher, partly as a mathematician, having been Prin- 
cipal of the old Albany Academy and Actuary of the 
Massachusetts and the Penn Life Insurance Compa- 
nies. As a young man, as a man, as an old man, he was 
serious, faithful, earnest with the Kingsley earnestness, 
a lover of literature, at home in romance and history 
and poetry, seldom at fault as to the authorship of a 
verse and generally able to complete the stanza. At 
the start and during the first twenty-five years of the 
college, mathematics was, in a sense, the leading study; 
it was obligatory to the same extent on all students. 
Then came a change. The classical course was dif- 
ferentiated from the scientific, the natural and experi- 
mental sciences, here as elsewhere, assumed greater 
proportions. And when Professor Mason came, he 
hoped to accompHsh and he found that many expected 
him to accomplish under the new conditions what 
tradition said had been accomplished under the old. 
He himself adhered to the high standard of his own 
student days ; he upheld it so far as it could be upheld 
in a modern faculty and a modern college not yet 
committed to electives (in which only the mathemat- 
ically minded take mathematics beyond the elements, 
and a larger portion succeed). Anxious, like other 
good and loyal teachers, to save those of the weaker 
students who were not past redemption, he formed — 
for years, if not to the end — special volunteer classes to 



156 The Later Faculty 

whom for a month before examination he gave supple- 
mentar}' instruction and drill several times a week, out- 
side the regular college hours (and, of course, without 
fee). He labored in a transition period, but his true 
mind never lost its temper, and his incisive, earnest 
teaching bore (if. in speaking of a man of pure literary 
taste, the metaphor may be changed) good fruit. 



The Life of the College 



157 



The Beginnings 

James R. Steers, '53 

TTAVING been requested to give some reminiscences 
of my school- days and my impressions of the Free 
Academy, now the City College, I shall begin with some 
few instances of early childhood showing the condition 
of public schools at that time. 

My earliest school- days were in a little school kept 
by a lady friend of my parents, who had, perhaps, 
eight or ten other pupils. When I was about six my 
mother took me to the Public School in Fifth Street, 
between Avenue C and Avenue D, the principal of 
which was Mr. Abraham Van Vleck, a thin sandy- 
haired man, who to my childish mind seemed the incar- 
nation of severity and dignity. My mother led me up 
to the platform, and to test my acquirements, to see 
whether I was a fit subject to be admitted, I was 
required to read several verses from the Bible, which 
I accomplished to the satisfaction of Mr. Van Vleck, 
and I was duly enrolled as a member of the Junior Sixth 
class, the lowest of the school. 

159 



i6o College Life — The Beginnings 

I remained at this school about five years and, in 
spite of strong efforts on my part to be promoted, I 
never rose above the Junior Seventh. The classes were 
Junior Sixth and Senior Sixth. Junior Seventh and 
Senior Seventh. Junior Eighth and Senior Eighth. 
Junior Xinth and Senior Xinth. 

Those were the days of flogging and the more serious 
misdemeanors that schoolboys are prone to were 
visited by a punishment with the rattan. Mr. Van 
\'leck had a unique and varied assortment of rattans, 
shaved to different degrees of thinness, which seemed 
to me to be adjusted to the age of the misdemeanants. 
After I had been in the school for a year or more, there 
grew upon my mind a feeling of resentment against 
what I thought was the injustice with which I was 
treated. I saw boys who were. I knew, not as well 
qualified for promotion as myself, advanced, and strive 
as I would and work as hard as I could. I never seemed 
to be able to get along. I do not recollect that I was 
punished very much with the rattan. I enjoyed a more 
ingenious form of punishment. Boys who had been 
guilty of unnecessary talking, or some such trifling 
thing, were made to stand holding out at arm's length 
hea\y slates for an hour or so at a time. 

All our wxiting of the lower classes was done on 
these slates, and when I was about eight, steel pens were 
first introduced into the school. Up to that time, the 
upper class boys had used quills, which were prepared 
for them b\- Mr. \'an Vleck or some of his assistants. 




(^ 



^ (1 






College Life — The Beginnings 163 

The boys were required to buy their own steel pens, a 
factory for which was started across the street from 
the school. Mv great ambition at that time was to be 
promoted from slate writing to copy-book writing, but 
this I was not able to accomplish so long as I remained 
in the school. The boys would write on their slates 
sentences ordinarily quoted, like "Evil communica- 
tions corrupt good manners," and submit them to Mr. 
Van Vleck and ask to be promoted to the dignity of a 
copy-book. I did that a number of times, but my 
application was invariably rejected, although the boys 
around me said that my writing was better than that 
of a great many of the others who had been promoted. 
There was one boy among us who helped other boys 
to the much-desired copy-book by writing their task 
for them and these were invariably successful. Despair- 
ing of getting the desired promotion in any other way, I 
got him to write some copies for me on my slate. I 
took them to Mr. Van Vleck, feeling I was sure of 
promotion this time, but to my dismay he rejected my 
application again. 

This school was one of the original Public Schools, 
so-cahed, established and supported by the Public 
School Society. When I was about eleven years old 
the city began to build its own Common Schools. 
About this time Common School No. 5 had just been 
finished and stood at the corner of Stanton and Sheriff 
streets, in a delectable neighborhood of rag pickers, 
drinking saloons, and breweries. As soon as the building 



164 College Life — The Beginnings 

was ready for occupancy I was transferred there, and 
upon examination by the Principal, Mr. Seneca Durand, 
to my astonishment I was immediateh' put into the 
highest class in the school and then I received my first 
realizing sense of what good teaching was. ^Ir. Durand 
himself was a good teacher, though not a highly edu- 
cated man. For arithmetic we went to a New Englander 
by the name of Hall, whose method was clearness itself 
and under whom it was a great pleasure to sit. I use 
his method with vulgar fractions to this da^^ In this 
school I remained between four and five }-ears. I had 
finished the whole course of studies in 1847. in fact a 
year before, but I stayed as a sort of occupation, my 
parents thinking I was too young to go to ^^•ork. 

In the summer of 1S4S I would have left the school, 
but my parents learning of the proposed establishment 
of the Free Academy, now the College of the Cit^' of New 
York, it was suggested that I should not leave school 
until the new academy was read}' to receive mv appli- 
cation for admission. 

The interior aiTangement of ^Ir. Durand 's school 
was somewhat similar to that of the old public school, 
that is to say, it had a large assembly room with a 
gallery in the rear, with class-rooms under it and at 
either side of the platform. This platfomi stood in the 
middle of the assembly room at the other end and oppo- 
site the gallery. There was a broad aisle down the 
middle of the large room and two broad side aisles. 
The desks were arranged on both sides between the 




At Work in the Research Laboratory. 
Taken while the members of the Chemical Department were engaged on some 
important investigations for the City Government. 



165 



CoUeo^e Life — The Bee^inning"s 167 



'fc>^ ^""^ "^ ""- ^^^.x.x.xx,^ 



middle and side aisles. Boys did not have separate 
desks. There were long desks, each arranged for 
twelve pupils. At the end toward the side aisles of each 
was a raised desk at which a boy, usually one of a 
higher class, sat on a tall stool, so that he could over- 
look all the boys sitting on the lower seats. These seats 
were small oval stools, without backs, the legs of which 
were set in a board on the floor. There were six seats 
fastened to one board, and six to another, making 
twelve to each long desk. Each boy had a little open 
drawer in front of him where he put his books, or his 
luncheon or what not, and in winter he jammed his 
hat in there and also his overcoat if he had one. 

There were no janitors in those days and the good 
boys were allowed, as a matter of favor, to stay in after 
school and sweep and dust the schoolroom, in which 
sweeping and dusting I took my part with a great 
deal of pleasure. 

In each class-room was a sort of easel, upon which 
was placed a large board of wood painted black. Upon 
this the teacher would write or explain the sums 
from the arithmetic, and sometimes a boy would be 
called up "to do a sum." The chalk was always a 
small irregular piece like that used by a carpenter. 
The rubber or wiper of the board was a more or less 
soiled rag. 

The selection of the school-books was very largely 
under the control of the principal, who, as he used to 
say, could usually get new books for the school from 



1 68 Colleo;e Life — The Bemnninps 

publishers on condition of giving up the use of the old 
ones. 

Our principal, Mr. Durand, was a fine singer, with a 
beautiful voice, and he trained the bo\'s in singing the 
tenor and bass parts of many old English glees, and 
also taught the girls, who had the floor below ours, the 
soprano and alto parts. At the close of the school each 
summer there was a grand concert, with quartettes and 
duets sung by the boys and girls, accompanied on the 
piano by one of the teachers, and with some rousing 
choruses. 

In December of 1848 I went up to the Free Academy 
with a certificate from my principal and applied for 
admission. Those who had applied were assembled in 
what was called the chemical lecture- room, and the 
President, Dr. Horace Webster, called one applicant 
after another, gave each a number, and directed him to 
a certain class-room to be examined. It seemed to 
me that he was very slow in doing this. I grew a 
little impatient and thought I would discover, if I 
could, whether there was any method in his order of 
selection. I soon noticed that the bo}'S who were 
making a noise or talking were selected, as I then 
thought, to get rid of them, so I immediately began to 
talk and at once was called up and was g'ven a number, 
43, by which I was known in all my examinations. The 
first room to which I was sent was the room of Pro- 
fessor Ross, professor of mathematics, and I still 
remember the impression he made upon me. He was 




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College Life — The Beginnings 171 

tall, somewhat ungainly, with an old-fashioned turn- 
down collar and a sort of rambling necktie or hand- 
kerchief tied around his neck, with an unstarched shirt 
front; rather rambling clothes, so to speak; but he had 
a fine amiable countenance, bright blue eyes, a high 
impressive forehead, and a general air of kindness, dig- 
nity, and one might also say knowledge. He always 
addressed us as " men ' ' to our great pleasure. 

The room filled me with amazement. All around 
the room on the walls were blackboards of slate. In a 
little shelf at the bottom running along the base of the 
blackboards were sheep-wool rubbers with handles and 
small pencils of chalk, and I involuntarily contrasted 
this magnificence with the simplicity of the school 
from w^hich I had just come. The sum or problem 
given to all those at the boards, about twenty I should 
think, was to extract the square root of .5. I worked 
this out with some difficulty and announced my answer, 
which, to my surprise, was pronounced correct. There- 
upon my card was marked and I was dismissed from 
that examination. The other examinations I do not 
particularly recall. 

Attending upon notice, full of tremors, sometime 
afterwards, I was informed by the venerable Doctor 
that I was admitted and was asked which course of 
study I would select, one with the ancient languages, or 
one with modern languages. I selected the course with 
ancient languages. 

As most boys do, perhaps, unknown to their teachers, 



172 



College Life — The Beginnings 



I began almost involuntarily to stud}' the characters 
of the principal and the teachers to whom I recited, and 
inasmuch as the}^ have all passed awa}^ it ma}' perhaps 
be no impropriet}' if I give m}' }'outhful impressions of 
them and of the internal arrangements of the Academy. 

If mv surprise at finding slate blackboards and the 
rubbers and chalk was great, my suq^rise was still 
greater at what were to me the luxurious appointments 
of the class-rooms. In these rooms each student had a 
revolving stool, with a back, and, so to speak, an indi- 
vidual desk which instead of being of pine grained to 
resemble oak was of cherry, or some other natural w^ood, 
and these finely furnished desks and seats gave an air 
to me of great luxury. The heating apparatus, the hot 
air system, was another great surprise. The heat in my 
school was from great coal stoves, one in each class- 
room and several large stoves in the large room. All the 
appointments of the Free Academy were so fine and su- 
perior in comparison with that of the school I came 
from that it was a long time before I came to look upon 
them as a matter of course. 

Doctor Webster was an honorable, high-minded gen- 
tleman but, while a fine disciplinarian, was, in my opin- 
ion, a very poor teacher. As he graduated very high in 
his class at West Point, he was undoubtedly a well 
educated man, but he lacked that indefinable thing, the 
power of teaching, of stimulating the minds of the stu- 
dents to take an interest in the subject under considera- 
tion, the power of clear thinking as to the best w^ay of 




Second Floor Corridor. 

View to the north, showing '85's Memorial Window, side ghmpse of the Ichthy- 
osaurus, and the series of art photographs ranged along the wall. 



173 



College Life — The Beginnings 175 

communicating knowledge to those minds, and the 
power of clear, succinct expression. Our class had 
opportunities to study him whsn he taught us in his 
own branch, Moral Philosoph}^ or in other subjects in 
the absence of some of the other teachers. 

Professor Ross was in some respects the best teacher 
I ever sat under. He also was a West Point graduate 
and stood high in his class. In fact, the whole atmos- 
phere of the Free Academy, when I was there, was 
strongly suggestive of West Point. During the last 
year I was at school one of the teachers took up for the 
highest class the study of algebra. Study as I would I 
could make nothing of it under him. When I went up 
to the Free Academy I had a dread of beginning that 
study; but under Ross not only algebra, but geometry, 
descriptive geometry, analytical geometry, and plane 
trigonometry became to me as simple as A-B-C. When 
our class had reached trigonometry Professor Ross was 
taken ill and died soon after. Doctor Webster took our 
class in mathematics for a few months and it was unfor- 
tunate, perhaps, that he should follow such a teacher as 
Ross, for the contrast between his methods, if one may 
call them such, and Ross's was too striking not to make 
a great impression on me, at least, and apparently on 
the whole class. Ross's place was subsequently taken 
by William B. Franklin, another West Pointer, after- 
wards one of the prominent generals in the Civil War, 
on the Union side. He conducted our studies for six 
months, in the mathematics of mechanics, such as the 



1/6 College Life — The Beginnings 

inclined plane, the wheel and axle, and the pulley. We 
used " Bartlett's Mechanics," written in the synthetic 
method. 

Franklin was a fine teacher, with a manner, however, 
quite different from Ross's, not so suave nor sympa- 
thetic, but with a method somewhat after the military 
style. For instance, the students would be seated in 
the class-room; Franklin would enter, a tall, erect, 
broad shouldered, handsome man, the students havins: 
their books open, cramming for the recitation. The 
moment he sat down would come the order, "Dovv^n 
vour books," then he would say, "Steers, take the 
floor," and I would immediately march out and stand 
midway between him and the students in the rear of 
me, and he would catechize me upon the lesson. He 
would not hmit himself always to the immediate lesson, 
but would ask questions collateral to, or which might 
be deduced from, the particulars stated in the books. 
While one might answer, if one had time to think, his 
manner was ver}^ apt to nonplus the students, espe- 
cially those who did not have their lessons very well 
committed to memory. He was a man of clear mind, 
clear expression, knew what he wanted, and even if his 
method savored more of the driving than the enticing, 
he was a fine teacher. 

After him in that de]^artment came Professor 
Nichols, a mild, gentle, amiable gentleman, not with the 
power of either Franklin or Ross, but with a clear and 
sufficient knowledge of the subject to carry the class 






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College Life — The Beginnings 179 

into spherical geometry and trigonometry, astronomy, 
and the calculus. '^ 

Our Professor of English Language and Literature 
was the Reverend Theodore Irving, a nephew of Wash- 
ington Irving, a slender man, with beautiful dark brown 
eyes, intellectual face, somewhat scanty dark hair, and in 
every way a refined and cultivated gentleman. I think 
the class enjoyed the sessions with Professor Irving as 
much if not more than with almost any other professor 
in the Academy. He seemed, to me at least, to have a 
very broad and full acquaintance with English lit- 
erature, and his rhetoric and spoken English were per- 
fect, without any trace of pedantry. When Professor 
Irving resigned his professorship to become the rector of 
Saint Ann's Church on Staten Island, Professor Barton 
was appointed to succeed him. 

Professor Barton was another gentlemanly, cultured 
man, of great dignity and reserve. The recitations 
under him, to me, were much less interesting than they 
had been under Irving. They were chiefly recitations, 
with very little discursive criticism of the writers or 
their styles, which, as I remember, we had enjoyed under 
Irving. 

Our Professor of Chemistry and Physics was Doctor 
Oliver Wolcott Gibbs, who came to us, I think, almost 
fresh from his studies under Liebig. He was a remark- 
ably handsome man, dark, with almost black hair, finely 
cut features, clear complexion, blue eyes, and a certain 
air, one might almost call aristocratic in his general man- 



I So College Life — The Beginnings 

ner. He was not what seemed to me a great although he 
was a good teacher. His strength lay rather in scientific 
investigations in his department than in teaching. He 
was a little impatient of the time lost in preparing ex- 
periments for his class, which sometimes succeeded and 
at other times did not, just for lack of preliminary prep- 
aration, but at the same time he made the subjects he 
taught very interesting to me, and, as it seemed to me, 
to most of the members of the class, except one, who 
would persist in apparently going to sleep. He would 

be awakened by the cry, '' , don't go to sleep," 

which angered him and caused us much amusement. 
This gentleman has subsequenth' become a very promi- 
nent lawver. I enjoyed the mathematics under Ross 
and the chemistry and physics under Gibbs more than 
any other studies. Gibbs subsequently left the Acad- 
emy and became famous at Harvard Universit}-. 

The Professor of Latin and Greek, Doctor John J. 
Owen, was undoubtedly a ver}' learned man in his sub- 
jects, and he was what might be called a fair teacher, 
but his manner was dry and uninteresting, to me at 
least, and, so far as I remember, he rarely smiled and he 
seemed to be absorbed in his Greek and Latin studies, 
and especially in his Greek books, which we used in our 
studies. 

Of course, it is understood that I am only giving my 
own impressions, which it is quite possible were wrong 
because of my immaturity. 

I did not enjoy the lessons under Doctor Owen for 




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I 



College Life — The Beginnings 183 

two reasons: First, owing to a defective verbal mem- 
ory, it was not easy for me to commit words literally to 
memory. If I could work out a result from premises or 
facts, I could retain the result in my memory, but a 
naked statement, even though expressing a fine thought, 
would not stick in my memory, except after great study 
and innumerable repetitions. The second reason was 
the entire absence of a feeling of sympathy between Dr. 
Owen and myself, the cause of which was quite possibly 
in myself. 

There was a Professor of Drawing, Mr. Paul Peter 
Duggan, a slender, pale gentleman, with big, sad gray 
eyes, and a general air of physical feebleness, but an 
artist to the tips of his fingers. I enjoyed the drawing 
very much, perhaps because of a long line of ship-build- 
ing ancestors. If I remember aright I was, much to 
my surprise, awarded the prize for drawing (my only 
prize) upon graduation. 

Among other studies which I disliked was ancient 
history. I cannot now recall the professor or assistant 
professor to whom we recited, but I know the whole sub- 
ject was dreary to me, because it consisted of commit- 
ting to memory a large volume of stories of individuals, 
kings and warriors, with whom I felt no special sympa- 
thy, and this process was to me dreary drudgery. I 
am not sorry to say that not a trace of it, so far as I can 
discover, remains with me to this day. 

In the second or third year, I forget which, some 
proportion of our class took up Spanish under Professor 



184 College Life — The Beginnings 

Morales, a small, dignified gentleman, with the typical 
black hair and eyes of his nation, a man who was 
extremely sensitive, but a good teacher, and while I 
still found difficulty in committing arbitrary words and 
sounds to memory, yet I enjoyed studying with Pro- 
fessor Morales, as he was a kindly, sympathetic teacher. 

About the same time our class took up the study of 
German under Professor Theodore Glaubensklee, a typ- 
ical Teuton, who might be called, without intending dis- 
respect, a mechanical teacher. That study I also enjoyed 
to a degree — not quite so much though as the study of 
Spanish — but it w^as still open to the same objections 
that I had to other studies which required the commit- 
ting to memory of words and sounds which had no con- 
nection with any process of reasoning. The result was 
that while my lessons in mathematics and in chemistry 
and physics were a pleasure, all the other lessons were 
hard, and in order to get them I was obliged to study 
from five to six hours outside of the regular hours of 
the Academy. 

Our hours at the Academ}^ were from nine to three 
five davs in the week, with an intermission of half an 
hour from twelve to half past twelve, and a half day on 
Saturday. Saturday, was I think, usually given up to 
orator}^ with an instructor, who was, if I may speak as 
I think, a pompous incompetent. He indulged in the 
flowing gestures of the arms and the old elocutionary 
modulation of the voice and more or less ungraceful 
poses of the body, which were, perhaps, considered 



College Life — The Beginnings 187 

absolutely necessary elements of oratory in those days, 
but which struck me as being rather absurd. 

I am afraid that I was deficient in a proper respect 
for some of my teachers while in the College, which 
sometimes led to my discomfiture. I recall one circum- 
stance in Professor Ross's room when he, having a 
severe cold, called in an assistant, a Mr. Palmer, to con- 
duct his lessons while he himself sat there, to supervise, 
in a way, the recitation. I had a proposition in geom- 
etry to recite, and I thought a remark or question by 
Palmer to be foolish. I answered him in a rather flip- 
pant manner, whereupon Ross instantly arose to his 
feet and, with an expression of almost wounded dignity, 
chided me for my lack of respect and in his deep serious 
manner said that I should treat Mr. Palmer with just 
as much respect as I treated him. Feeling that I was in 
the wrong, and having no defence, I said nothing. My 
lack of respect for my teachers unless they showed men- 
tal power or ability appeared on several occasions in 
my relations with Doctor Webster. It was not long 
after my entrance before I realized that his system 
of discipline consisted very largely in magnifying tri- 
fling violations of rules which it is often best not to 
appear to see; and his severe and almost imperious 
manner, developed by military training, was, to me at 
least, very unpleasant. While I might, and proba- 
bly did, violate some of the rules, yet I would never 
admit that I was in a sense disobedient or disorderly, 
but from the first I felt an utter lack of kindly sympathy 



1 88 College Life — The Beginnings 

between the Doctor and myself. That lack of sympa- 
thy showed itself on several occasions in a greater or 
less degree, but one of the more striking examples of it 
which I now recall happened in this wise: The boys 
used to run races in the recess hour around Gramercy 
Park, which then had an earth walk all around it. One 
of the students in our class was a great favorite with 
the Doctor, partly because he was a very well behaved 
young man and partly because he studied to win the 
Doctor's good favor by a kind of obsequiousness which 
did not brmg him into favor with the other students. 
Upon one occasion, when I was chasing a boy around 
Gramercy Square, and had nearly captured him, this 
student, who by the way wore glasses, suddenly ap- 
peared in my way. He was walking aimlessly and re- 
gardless of the racers, and I was rather vexed at losing 
my prey, so with my open hand I slapped his face, 
knocking his glasses into the Park through the railing, 
partly to get him out of my path and partly by way of 
resentment. I immediately stopped and made a long 
search for the glasses, but could not find them. In a 
short time I was summoned b\' the Doctor, with my 
victim as the complainant. The Doctor stated what the 
complaint was and asked me if that was correct, and I 
said it was. He asked me why I did it, and I told him 
frankly of my vexation at being interrupted. The Doc- 
tor immediately lectured me on the impropriet}^ of my 
behavior and after he had finished I stated to him as 
mildlv as I could, because I was feeling a little vexed, 




(^ 



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College Life — The Beginnings 191 

that I did not think the authority of the college officers 
extended beyond the limits of the college building and 
grounds. His face flushed and in very angry tones he 
announced that we "were always under the authority 
of the college officers." I repeated my former state- 
ment, insisting that I only considered myself subject to 
their authority when I was either in the college or in the 
college grounds. The Doctor seemed at a loss for 
words for a time and then exclaimed, "How, how, you 
are all wrong." In a moment of diplomacy I gave my 
victim a dollar for a pair of glasses and the incident was 
closed. 

On another occasion, the Doctor, being fond of en- 
couraging military exercises among the students, ap- 
proved of the formation of a military squad of about 
twelve or fifteen students, which was under the com- 
mand of Mr. Nicholas Babcock, a student. This squad 
were armed with wooden guns and they used to drill in 
Twenty-third Street and on Lexington Avenue during 
part of the recess hour. Four or five members of m}^ 
class, including myself, took it into our heads to test 
the military skill and proficiency of this squad, and form- 
ing ourselves into what used to be called the Macedo- 
nian phalanx, now called the fl}^ing wedge, with myself 
at the apex of the triangle, we charged the army under 
Captain Babcock, pierced its centre, and drove it into 
full retreat. Captain Babcock duly made his complaint 
to the Doctor and we were all haled before him, and I, 
as the apex of the triangle, was required to give an 



192 College Life — The Beginnings 

explanation of our disorderly conduct. Recalling to 
mind such military terms as I could remember, I in sub- 
tance told the Doctor that we had become interested in 
military manoeuvres, and having in our studies learned 
about the Macedonian phalanx, thought it a fine oppor- 
tunity to try its efficacy, and seeing what we thought 
was a good opportunity to put our theories in practice^ 
we drove the phalanx against Captain Babcock's squad, 
resulting in the defeat of the squad. It took all the 
Doctor's self-possession to refrain from smiling, but I 
could see a twinkle in his eye, an unusual thing for 
him, and after a few w^ords of reproval the Macedo- 
nian phalanx was dismissed. 

Our class was named Class A, admitted in January, 
1849. There was a summer examination for admission 
in 1849 and Class B was admitted. At admission our 
class numbered about one hundred and forty. I do not 
remember the number in Class B, but at the end of a 
year and a half or two years both classes had been so 
reduced by students failing to pass subsequent examina- 
tions and by those leaving, that the two classes were 
united ; so that while those of A spent four and a half 
years in the Academy, those of B spent only four. 

Among the students of Class B. was Mr. Alfred G. 
Compton. There was nothing remarkable in Comp- 
ton's appearance except a very sandy head of hair, a 
very freckled face, and a somewhat short stature, but 
when he was called upon to recite in any of our studies, 
it was a very close thing between him and John Hardy, 



College Life — The Beginnings 195 

Charles L. Holt, and Benjamin S. Raynor. I think 
Hardy had the better verbal memory, but in no other 
respect was he superior to Compton or Holt. When 
either Hardy, Holt, or Compton, and particularly Comp- 
ton, was called to the board to recite in mathematics, 
there arose in my mind mingled feelings of envy and 
pleasure; envy because I could not do the thing so well, 
and pleasure because the thing was so well done. Those 
four. Hardy, Raynor, Compton, and Holt, were our ban- 
ner students, but Raynor was only a memorizer, and 
he was mentally far inferior to the others. The honor 
men of our class were in this order: Hardy, Raynor, 
Compton, Holt, Steers. 

Our amusements consisted chiefly in races around 
Gramercy Square, and around the Academy building. 
There was an open space all around it about the width 
of the present dooryards on Twenty-third Street, and 
the boys, especially the younger ones, were very much 
given to shouting and racing and sometimes wrestling 
there. The Doctor, in pursuance of his minute system 
of discipline, usually stood in the middle of the walk 
leading from Twenty-third Street into the building, 
partly for the purpose of stopping the racing across the 
walk, and partly for the purpose of detecting the cul- 
prits and demeriting them. He was not at all a strik- 
ing object as he stood there, bald-headed, with his thin 
gray hair blown about by the breeze, furtively watch- 
ing whom he might identify, and the boys racing past 
him when his back was turned. 



196 College Life — The Beginnings 

Another of our amusements was playing "knuckle 
all over" in Twenty- third Street, between Third and 
Lexington avenues. One can fancy the primitive state 
of things when twenty or thirty boys could pla}' 
"knuckle all over" with a powerfully thrown ball 
through Lexington Avenue with no one to forbid, no 
policeman in sight, few, if any, houses, in the neighbor- 
hood. If I remember rightly the street was unpaved. 
Another of our amusements when we came to a holiday, 
generalh' during the Ma}' week or on Saturday after the 
morning session, were the boating parties on the East 
River to Riker's Island. The several preparations for 
these excursions were allotted to sub-committees. The 
committee of the whole generalh' comprised Hard}', 
Holt, Compton, Brant, and myself. I think Compton 
was the committee on I'cs jrumentaria. Brant the com- 
mittee on liquid refreshments, Hard}' was on coniplex 
apprehension, vulgar!}' known as a pack of cards. Holt 
I forget, and mine was the committee on boat and the 
tides. 

The means of reaching the College or Academy in 
those days were very primitive. Some lived in Harlem 
and could only reach the Academ}' b}' means of omni- 
buses or stages, which ran, I think, ever}' half- 
hour or hour. My home was in Seventh Street, near 
the East River, and ni}' only means of getting to the 
Academy was to walk, a little less than two miles. The 
walks during the spring and fall were ver}' pleasant. 
In the winter heavv snows and storms made it rather 




The Repository. 
James Toher (late U. S. Cavalry) was for many years Assistant to the Libra, 
rian and held here under his care all books and all supplies of 
every kind distributed free of charge to the students. 



197 



College Life — The Beginnings 199 

the reverse, and innumerable days I spent in the col- 
lege building with more or less cold, wet feet and wet 
clothes. 

Several of the students lived at or near my home, 
and we generally went together both coming and going. 
There were very few buildings for most of the way and 
we used to make the trip across lots and in doing so we 
excited the attention of some of the young inhabitants 
of " Mackerelville, " then so-called, a shanty district in 
the vicinity of Fourteenth Street and First Avenue. 
These lads took a great interest in our coming and go- 
ing to the extent of stoning us regularly. By force of a 
bad example we naturally fell into the same habit by 
way of defence, stoning them, so it was that every morn- 
ing and afternoon there was a running battle until we 
reached a more built up part of the city at either end of 
our journey. Of course, there were no policemen about 
then, except now and then one, who evidently sympa- 
thized with the attacking party. One of these occa- 
sions was made very interesting to us by the assistance 
of a very large student by the name of Sullivan, a name 
which to me has always the suggestion of pugilism. He 
was at least six feet tall, broad-shouldered and power- 
ful, and a very indifferent student. The attacks on us 
growing more and more violent we retained Sullivan as 
guard, and asked him to accompany us, not to be with 
us, but appear as an outsider and so get close to the 
enemy. When the shower of stones was flying pretty 
thick he pounced upon the stone throwers and in a few 



200 College Life — The Beginnings 

minutes they lay scattered on the ground. This set- 
tled them for a long time. 

At our graduation Hardy was valedictorian and bore 
off most of the prizes, which he deserved. Raynor was 
salutatorian and got some prizes. Holt and Compton 
also received prizes, while I trailed along with the prize 
for drawing, which I did not care for as I did not need 
that stimulus to make me wish to do as well as I could 
in ni}' studies. I disliked the system of marking, partlv 
because the results were so largely dependent upon the 
point of view of the teachers and their inevitable mis- 
takes, and partly because of the heart burnings and 
charges of unfairness against the teachers made by dis- 
appointed students. 

Naturalh', as the last year of our stay in the Acad- 
emy drew towards its close, our graduation ceremonies 
became of great interest to us, and we prepared our 
graduation orations with which to entertain our own 
relatives and friends, and bore the relatives and friends 
of our fellow- graduates. The subject I chose, "The 
Feudal System," was interesting to me, but it did not 
occur to me that it would be of very little interest to the 
patient audience which listened to us. 

The ceremonies were held at Niblo's Garden, a large 
theatre in Broadway near Houston Street, and the class 
sat in the theatre seats in front of the stage. The 
stage was arranged with chairs for the president, 
seated behind a large table, and professors, mem- 
bers of the Board of Education, and invited guests. 




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College Life — The Beginnings 203 

On the table were our certificates of graduation 
and the prizes which were to be distributed. There 
was music by a small orchestra alternating with the ora- 
tions. All of the seventeen members of the class spoke. 
I forget the subjects chosen by the other orators, but I 
thought they all did better than I did, for right in the 
middle of mine I forgot the rest of it for a few minutes. 
The audience kindly applauded me, then I rambled on 
extempore awhile until the rest of the oration came back 
to me, and I never knew how I dovetailed the new with 
the old, but I did it, and retired with more applause. 

The finest oration, I thought, was John Hardy's vale- 
dictory, both in matter and delivery. Then came ad- 
monitory addresses to the students, by the president 
and others, then the prizes were distributed, and as 
prize after prize was awarded to Hardy, there was most 
tumultuous applause. Each of the other prize men were 
applauded ; even I with my solitary prize in drawing re- 
ceived a proportionate amount. 

Our certificates were handed to us by the venerable 
Doctor and we departed to seek out our friends to 
receive their congratulations. 



The Early Sixties 

Ira Remsen, '65 

'X'HOUGH I have the honor to be a Bachelor of 
^ Arts of the College of the City of New York, I 
am not in the usual sense an alumnus of the Col- 
lege. This may sound paradoxical but nevertheless 
it is true. For reasons which I need not go into, I left 
college towards the end of the Sophomore year. If I 
had stayed I should have received my degree in the ordi- 
nary course of events in the vear 1865. As a matter of 
fact I did receive it about 1890, or thirty years after en- 
tering. It took me thirty years to earn the degree, and 
the average student earns it in five. That is a plain 
statement of fact. What conclusion to draw I do not 
know, nor do I know that it is necessary to draw 
an}' conclusion. M)- only object in referring to this 
matter at all is to avoid sailing under false colors. 

And now as an alumnus, who is only half an alum- 
nus, I am asked to write something for the Memorial 
Volume. What shall it be ? The circumstances natu- 
rallv tem]:)t me to an estimate of the value of the training 

I received at the College. How far has it been helpful 

204 




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College Life — The Early Sixties 207 

to me in my life work ? I wish I could tell. But I find 
it extremely difficult to reach definite conclusions on 
such subjects. My inclination was toward scientific 
pursuits. I did not know this when I was at the Col- 
lege nor was there much opportunity to find it out. We 
had a few lectures in chemistry by Professor Wolcott 
Gibbs. Now, Professor Gibbs was an excellent chemist, 
of whom the country is proud, but what can any one do 
with one lecture a week in chemistry or any other sub- 
ject? I remember very little of that course of lectures 
except the word sesqui-oxide. That made an impres- 
sion. But this can hardly be called scientific. Indeed, 
I am quite sure that chemistry did not appeal to me in 
that form. 

The only other attempt at science made in those 
days was a course given once a week by Professor R. 
Ogden Doremus. He lectured in the chapel on human 
anatomy, physiology, geology, and astronomy. I 
think he also gave us a few talks on natural philosophy 
but I came out of this unscathed and without any feel- 
ing that I should like to devote myself to scientific pur- 
suits. This is no reflection on Professor Doremus. He 
did the best he could under the circumstances. At about 
this time, if I remember correctly, he gave a popular 
course on chemistry and physics at the Cooper Insti- 
tute that did interest me very much. His experiments 
were highly spectacular. Great crowds went to hear 
him. I looked forward to each lecture with longing. 
I cannot say that I carried away any clear ideas. 



2o8 College Life — The Early Sixties 

That was probably my own fault. But the exhibition 
pleased me and that was worth something. 

Mathematics came easy to me. At the end of the 
Introductory year I found that one of the Ward Medals 
was awarded to me for "Greatest Proficiency in Alge- 
bra and Geometr}"." That gave me satisfaction and 
does even now. I was looking at the medal not long 
ago. I came across it in arranging m}^ treasures. The 
fact that I was head of the class in mathematics with- 
out being conscious of any effort led me to think about 
taking up some occupation requiring the use of this 
branch. I talked it over with my father and we rather 
felt that civil engineering offered an excellent field, and 
for a time that idea took possession of me. The next 
year we took up calculus and this also seemed easy, and 
I could not understand why any one should find it diffi- 
cult, as some assuredly did. Its significance I failed to 
grasp. I could do the tricks and liked to do them, but 
I could not see that the}' were of an\' value \\'hatever. 
One da\' I met Professor Docharty, who was then the 
principal professor of mathematics. He was always 
pleasant to me and I felt that he was more or less sym- 
pathetic. He asked me how I hked my work. I told 
him truthfully that I liked the calculus but I could not 
see what it was for. To this he replied, "Never mind, 
that will all come out right in time." At this late date 
I do not wish to complain, but I think the professor 
might have done me a great service by pointing out, 
what appeared clear much later, that calculus is the 




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College Life — The Early Sixties 211 

science of growth. I lost my interest in the subject not 
long after that and later lost my knowledge of it, so 
that it became extremely difficult to acquire facility in 
its use. This experience has impressed me with the 
great difference between the plasticity of the mind in 
early youth and the comparative rigidity which charac- 
terizes it a few years afterward. 

Latin and Greek I studied conscientiously but they 
did not give the pleasure that mathematics did. They 
caused me no special difficulty and I believe the daily drill 
was valuable. The interpretation of a difficult passage 
presents numerous problems that can be solved defi- 
nitely, and the teacher can hold the pupil accurately to 
his work. With a good teacher there is nothing slip- 
shod about it. We were not required to read a great 
deal in order that we might ' ' imbibe the spirit of the 
ancients," but we were required to know a certain 
amount each day and to defend our knowledge at every 
point. That drill, I repeat, I believe was valuable, and 
the most valuable feature of it was, in my opinion, its 
accuracy. I cannot believe that we should have been 
nearly as much benefited if we had been obliged to 
skim over a lot of material and leave it with a most im- 
perfect knowledge of its meaning. The tendency of 
this latter method is to develop slovenliness, while one 
of the chief objects of education is, it appears to me, to 
overcome the natural tendency to slovenliness. 

History was to me the most difficult subject. I could 
not remember dates and the other important facts that 



212 College Life — The Early Sixties 

make up a certain kind of history, such as the names of 
a long line of rulers, the names of generals, the number 
killed in battle, and the number taken prisoner. I 
tried hard enough, but it was no use. Before going to 
bed I would repeat over and over again the main points 
that were to come up the following day, only to find that 
they had not stuck, and in the morning I had to go at it 
again, and with very little time. The examinations in 
history were terrible to me. I may say that I have 
always felt since that this was my greatest weakness so 
far as power of acquiring knowledge is concerned, and I 
have been led to read more history than I should per- 
haps otherwise have done. This has given me a good 
deal of pleasure and also some pain, for I still find it very 
difficult to remember what I read in this line. Curi- 
ously enough I do not find it difficult to remember the 
history of chemistry. My knowledge of the literature 
of chemistry, which is extensive, is unusually good, and, 
apparently, for facts in which I have, as it were, a per- 
sonal interest my memory is better than the average. 
I mention this because I think it is interesting from the 
psychological point of view. 

In connection with the work in history I am re- 
minded of an incident which I think worth recalling. 
My standing in my classes was high during the first 
year. I think I was head of the class the second half 
year. I am not sure of this. It may have been an- 
other half-year. At all events the next term we took 
up history and that, for the reason I have given, pulled 



College Life — The Early Sixties 215 

me down. My recollection is that I fell to the seventh 
or eighth place. Well, that was a good deal of a fall. 
I felt badly about it, but I simply could n't help it. Now 
for the incident. One day one of my teachers with 
whom at that time I had had but little to do, came to 
me and said, " Remsen, I notice that you did not do as 
well last term as usual. What 's the matter ? " I did not 
explain. Perhaps I was ashamed to. Perhaps I felt 
that the explanation was not adequate. I do not know 
how this may have been, but I do know that the kindly 
word of this teacher made a lasting impression upon me. 
I have since had the satisfaction of telling him so. My 
fellow alumni will not be surprised to learn that the 
teacher I am speaking of is Professor Adolph Werner. 
At that time he had our class in logic. I never stud- 
ied German under him. I am glad to be able to say that 
as soon as I got through with history my standing rose 
again, and I believe Professor Werner rejoiced as much 
as I did. 

Drawing played an important part in our course 
and I am glad it did. I believe it furnishes excellent 
training. At all events I have always felt since that 
the time spent in the drawing room was well spent. I 
could draw fairly well, at least outlines. I did try the 
Laokoon group and finished it after a fashion. This 
was, of course, too much for me, and I imagine the re- 
sult was not very satisfactory. I afterwards had, for a 
time, the idea of taking up artistic work for a profession 
because I liked it and had some skill at drawing. But 



2i6 College Life — The Early Sixties 

I came to the conclusion that ni}^ skill was not sufficient. 
In this I was confirmed by the judgment of a friend who 
was a professional artist. He did, to be sure, encour- 
age me somewhat but he did not at least insist that I 
should take up art. I remember the old German pro- 
fessor who taught us drawing. His name was Koerner. . 
The boys used to call him "Point in space." I have no 
doubt that he was a good teacher, though my memory 
of his efforts in this line is not clear. One thing I do 
remember. He was unconsciously guilty of a great act 
of injustice to me. He never knew it. If I tell the story 
now it can hurt no one's feelings, and it may serve as a 
warning to some who may be inclined to reach conclu- 
sions too hastily. The case was this: Among other 
exercises in free-hand drawing we had to copy some out- 
lines of heads. These were placed before us on the wall 
and we drew them as best we could. I happened to hit 
them pretty well. At the end of the week the professor 
told us that he had marked the drawings which we had 
handed in. The names of the class were called off in 
the order of the excellence of their work. To my great 
surprise my name was not called at all. At the close of 
his remarks the professor said, "There is one set of 
drawings that I have not marked at all because they are 
so accurate that I am sure they could not have been done 
honestly. ' ' Imagine my feelings I I did not say a word 
to him about it. What good could that do? I pro- 
tested to my classmates, but I fear some of them were 
never convinced of my honesty in this matter. I 






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College Life — The Early Sixties 219 

learned what it was to be a martyr in a small way. In 
this connection it may not be out of place to mention 
the fact that one of my sons had an uncontrollable desire 
to be an artist and that he is now following that career. 
My own tastes lead me to take much pleasure in his 
work. 

There was n't much mischief among us as I remem- 
ber it. Certainly nothing very bad. We used to mis- 
behave in one class-room with great regularity. The 
teacher in this case simply could not keep order. If a 
teacher can't he can't and there 's an end on't. It was 
a waste of time for us to go to this room. We were 
wrong, of course, and yet that same thing will happen in 
every class-room in charge of a teacher who, as we say, 
"can't keep order." A teacher of this kind lacks per- 
sonal force and ought not to be a teacher. His work is 
bound to be a failure. Nature provides that the pupils 
of such a man shall make it as uncomfortable for him as 
possible — Nature's hope being apparently that he will 
give it up and go into something else. Too often Na- 
ture hopes in vain. 

But I have wandered on far enough — perhaps too 
far. I have found pleasure in recalling those old days. 
Sometimes I regret that I should have left college. At all 
events I do not regret the time spent there. My life 
might have been more satisfactory had I completed the 
course, or had I had the opportunity to go to one of the 
larger colleges and stay there until I was twenty- two or 
twenty- three years old before receiving the degree. No 



2 20 College Life — The Early Sixties 

one can tell. As matters turned out, I spent five years 
at German universities not long after I left and, while 
devoting m^'self largely to a specialty, I did make some 
effort to make up for the defects of my earlier education. 
The training I received at the College was of value to 
me, I am sure. I have alreadv said that I believe that 
the chief value lay in the daily drill in subjects the 
nature of which makes it possible for the teacher to fol- 
low every step of the pupil's mental processes, and to 
secure accuracy. 



After the War 

John R. Sim, '68 

■\ XT" HEN at some meeting of old friends and col- 
' ' lege-mates I look back through a vista of 
more than forty years to the days of my first 
entrance into the old "Free Academy," I find 
that the pictures then impressed upon my mind 
seem more vivid than those preserved by most of my 
companions. Perhaps this is only because I was a 
country boy freshly come to the city, so that every- 
thing about the metropolis struck me as strange, and 
my mind was in a state peculiarly alert to receive im- 
pressions. Those were the war days, when we lads 
talked more of battles than of books, and the old Free 
Academy — or young, I suppose I should call it, for its 
years then, as now, almost exactly matched my own — 
had not yet changed its name. That came in my Soph- 
omore year, when, with its new title as the College of the 
City of New York, the institution assumed a formal 
dignity to which the depth and thoroughness of its 
studies well entitled it. 

Looking back I can see, as plainly as if yesterday. 



2 22 Colleee Life — After the War 



'& 



the great barn of the chapel, in which we assembled 
daih'. About that time everybody was singing how 
they would ' ' Hang Jeff Davis on a Sour Apple Tree, ' ' and 
the bo}'s used to cut out endless effigies of the unhappy 
victim. A thread was placed about the figure's neck, 
a moist, clingy wad of paper was attached to this, and 
then projected violenth^ upward against the walls or 
lower ceiling of the chapel. Generally these missiles 
returned to vex the sender, but occasionally to our 
unhallowed joy, one of them would stick high out of 
reach. When a gentle breeze swept thrcuigh the hall 
each of these little manikins would flutter about and 
jerk and toss in grewsome suggestion of the gasping 
stmggle between life and death. 

Another vivid picture shows me four large, open 
registers, one in each quarter of the great hall. Through 
these, when all went well in the regions below, there 
arose a stead}' stream of hot air. Scarce a student of 
any originality whatever but made personal inves- 
tigation of the odd experiments in which this ascend- 
ing column of air could be employed. If one brought 
from home a carefully prepared pocketful of old paper 
torn up very fine, and if. in a fit of scientific enthusiasm, 
one tossed the whole of this over the register, the atoms 
did not fall, but sweeping upward with the nish of air 
rose grandly to the ceiling, thence to scatter and de- 
scend in what seemed a delicate snoA\-fall over the entire 
hall. No other experiment proved so alluring as this — 
if we except the similar one of dropping a few grains of 




Professor Anthon's Historical Cabinet. 
A corner in the Second-Floor Corridor. 



'223 



CoUee^e Life — After the War 225 



'& 



pepper into the air column. The variety of echoing 
sneezes which responded throughout the chapel was a 
marvel and a thing of beauty, to remain in some unregu- 
lated minds a joy forever. 

Then there were study hours in the chapel, when we 
gathered round those registers in close and merry com- 
radeship. The back of the great room had seats and 
desks, but in the front were benches ranged to avoid 
those heated centres of temptation. These benches 
were easily gathered in social squares around the source 
of heat, while on the outskirts of the section hovered 
livelier students on mischief bent. A favorite prank 
with those desks in the back — old-fashioned desks such 
as many of you must remember, made for two with a 
hole for an inkstand in the centre — was to kindle a 
paper fire inside and let the flame shoot upward through 
the ink hole. Well do I remember the startled impres- 
sion made upon my youthful mind the first time I saw 
this happen, and saw Fabregou — young tutor Fabregou 
then, beloved old Fabregou now, still happily here 
among us— saw him rush with vigorous expostulations 
to extinguish the blaze. 

I could recall for you other bits like these, an end- 
less series, as for instance, of the huge wood stoves in 
the lower rooms and the disorder occasioned by them; 
but this entire book is not for one man's reveries, and I 
hurry on. 

Away back in the later sixties, and for years pre- 
ceding and following, students in the Classical Course 



2 26 CoUeee Life — After the War 



c3 



had the option of taking French, German, or Spanish in 
the Senior year. Of the Classical students in the class 
of '68 seven elected to stud}^ German. In alphabetical 
order they were: Baker, Bowker, Chambers, Crawford, 
Knox, Pope, and Sim. Baker, the class poet, and after- 
wards author of " Point Lace and Diamonds," and other 
popular verse, presently dropped out for reasons not 
now remembered, and graduated with '69. The re- 
maining six survived the perils of the first temi, and 
February, 1868, found them in good spirits, undoubtedly 
well satisfied with themselves — as is the manner of 
Seniors — and looking out upon the world with a sort of 
wonder that the world had thus far got along so well 
without their help. 

In those days, which seem but as yesterday to the 
writer, the schedule of recitations w^as dotted here and 
there with "study hours," which, as I have suggested, 
were usually passed in the chapel under the supervision 
of one or more of the instructors. It fell to the lot of the 
Classical German squad of six to have a couple of these 
study hours per week assigned to them in among the 
recitations of the second term. Senior }'ear; and as a 
special favor from President Webster they were per- 
mitted to use his recitation-room as a study-room, with- 
out supervision. This room was on the ground floor, 
in the northeast corner of the old college building, its 
end windows opening on the College yard, the Work- 
shop-Laboratory Drawing Room extension not yet 
having been dreamt of; it is the same room that now 




History Room. 
Professor McGuckin. On the walls are copies of illuminated MSS. made by 
the students, also a facsimile of the original pact of freedom, made be- 
tween the three Swiss cantons in 1291 



227 



College Life — After the War 229 

contains the engine and other machinery of the electric 
outfit. Of course it extended then, as now, under a part 
of the chemistry lecture- room, and in the old days a 
large stove occupied a prominent position in the east 
centre of the room, and sent its surplus heat — when it 
had any — through a register into the lecture-room over- 
head. It may be said, by the way, that this stove 
engaged a large share of student attention from day to 
day, during cold weather especially. It was generally 
either red-hot or stone-cold, its condition at any time 
being the result usually of studied effort on the part of 
some student or students. From time to time it would 
emit the pungent odors of burning snuff, and other sub- 
stances, introduced on the sly by students curious in the 
line of experiment; while every now and then muffled 
explosions would reverberate through its vast interior 
and up the hot-air pipe into the lecture- room, also the 
result of unholy student activity. 

In this room, rich with memories and associations, 
the stud}" of German went on apace on the part of the 
six Seniors, and great was the progress they all made, 
for the acquisitions of each were at the service of all 
during these conferences. And even in comparatively 
modern times the Professor of German has been known 
to refer with apparent pride to the amount and variety 
of German text which some classes covered in " the 
brave days of old." 

But even to these men there came at times yearn- 
ings and longings of the soul for other, if not always 



30 Colleore Life — After the War 



better, things. And thus, now and then, a weary 
brother would interrupt the proceedings with a story 
or a joke; and presently it was suggested that a limited 
portion of each hour be devoted to listening to such 
stories, jokes, conundrums, etc., as the researchers and 
narrators might think worthy of being presented to 
such a company. At once there was manifested a 
variety of opinion as to the nierit of many of the offer- 
ings; and it was soon determined that orderly procedure 
required that a vote should be taken to detennine offi- 
cially the merit of each story, joke, or conundrum pre- 
sented; and that a majority vote should be necessary 
to authorize a laugh ; and that any one, even the narra- 
tor himself, who ventured to laugh, before a favorable 
vote had been declared and a signal given, should be 
subject to a fine. A Master of the Revels was then 
appointed and the Gemian section entered upon a new 
phase in its career. 

The scheme worked wonderfully and with many 
surprises. Occasionally a really funny thing was voted 
down — when some unfortunate to whom the fun of 
it was irresistible, no longer able to contain himself, 
would explode and so subject himself to the reprobation 
of the Master, as well as to a fine. Whenever it was 
voted to laugh, on the signal being given, the quiet of 
the room would be broken, b}^ from three to five voices, 
with such shouts as might fittingly accompany " bedlam 
broken loose." The company discovered presently, 
to its grief, that the old stove with its hot-air pipe lead- 




The Third-Floor Corridor 

Looking west. Along the walls are the cases containing models and 

apparatus of the Physics Department. 



231 



College Life — After the War 233 

ing into the chemistry lecture-room acted as a speaking- 
tube on a large scale, and faithfully discharged the 
noises from the "study "-room below in full volume into 
the lecture- room above. When Dr. Doremus inquired 
into the origin of these disturbances, and learned that 
they resulted from the "concerted study of Ger- 
man" in the room below, he lodged a complaint with 
Dr. Webster, and the German section was forthwith 
dispossessed and ordered to report on stud}^ hours in the 
ante-room of the president's office. In after years a 
part of this room was partitioned off and used by Mr. 
Mayell as his office. In the old days it was undivided 
by partition, and its furniture consisted of a few chairs 
and a low table covered with green oil-cloth, which 
stood on the right hand as you passed into the Presi- 
dent's office. It was at this table that the President 
usually interviewed the young men who were sent to 
him on account of disorder. The office proper was 
closed by a heavy, solid door which was long afterwards 
replaced by the present swinging glass doors. The 
solid door usually stood open when the President was 
in his office. 

Dr. Webster kept himself posted as to the times and 
seasons when his German friends should report in the 
ante-room; he always greeted them kindly, took note 
of any absences, and frequently urged diligence and 
increased application to study — though the Doctor 
knew as well as any one that the little group was far 
above the average in scholarship, containing, as it did, 



2 34 College Life — After the War 

four men of honor rank, one of them being the valedic- 
torian of the class. 

The Doctor found it a difficult matter to keep his 
wards together all the time. Very often when he stepped 
to the door, apparently to count them, he would find 
one or more missing, and he had the good sense never to 
presume that the one or more present had the faintest 
idea of where the missing ones were. He would search 
them out himself and bring them back to the ante-room 
one by one; and very often he would restore the wan- 
derer to his place at the table with an audible chuckle. 

Time and space would fail me to tell of all the varied 
pranks of this joyous little "German band "of six while 
supposedly under the eye of the good Doctor, but two 
stand out in memory so distinctly that they must be re- 
ferred to. On one occasion two of the party had slipped 
away unobserved and had descended to the ground floor 
and were circumspectly peeping through the door into 
Twenty- third Street. They presently heard the tones 
of a hurdy-gurdy near b}^ in the street, and it was the 
work of but a moment to get into touch with the owner, 
lead him into the building and to the head of the first 
flight of stairs, and there inspire him, with a small fee, 
to do his utmost, while slowly advancing along the hall 
to the west. The two culprits had barely time to reach 
their places in the ante-room when the old organ began 
to do its loudest, with one of the popular airs of the 
time. There was much excitement in the immediate 
neighborhood for a few moments; heads appeared at 



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College Life — After the War 237 

the doorways opening into the hall; the little German 
band, closely followed by the Doctor, was out at once to 
note the cause of the hubbub, the four innocent mem- 
bers exhibiting marked signs of astonishment, and the 
other two feigning to do so. The Doctor advanced on 
the poor organ-grinder; the latter backed slowly to the 
stair-head, but kept the crank of his machine going 
furiously the while, as if determined to earn his fee; 
and when he started down the steps, having understood 
that he was no longer wanted, he waved his hat in gen- 
eral farewell to the small crowd which had by this time 
assembled. The Doctor had him escorted to the street 
by the worthy janitor, Mr. Delaney, who had appeared 
in the rear, shortly after the concert had begun; and 
thus ended the episode. As the Doctor passed by on 
his return he looked sadly at his wards, who appeared to 
be hard at work with their text-books; but whether he 
suspected any of them of complicity in the musical out- 
break they never learned. 

The other incident occurred on an occasion when 
the Doctor passed out of his office to escort a lad}^ visitor 
to the stairway, and inadvertently left the key in his 
office door. It was the Avork of but a moment for one 
of the group of six to close the door, lock it, and slyly 
drop the key into the pocket of another of the party — 
the valedictorian. After parting from the lady the 
Doctor went on a short tour through the building, and 
did not return to his office at once. When he did re- 
turn he had forgotten that he had left the door of his 



238 Colleo^e Life — After the War 



office open. He searched his pockets for the key, and 
looked all about the ante-room for it — in vain. Then 
he sent for the janitor and had him call at the rooms he 
had just visited and make inquiry, but the key was not 
found in any of them. The mystery truly was great; 
and the man with the ke}' in his pocket was the most 
sympathetic and the most puzzled of all and the most 
active in the search for the missing key. It presently. 
appeared that the Doctor's hat and his text- and 
record-book were all locked up in the office, and that 
the Seniors were due to recite to him in International 
Law the very next hour. By this time the man who 
had locked the door and hidden the ke}' was somewhat 
alarmed at the situation. He took the man whose 
pocket held the ke}' to one side and told him where the 
key was. The latter was indeed startled. After a hur- 
ried consultation the janitor was called in and told the 
facts, and the key was given to him. It was under- 
stood that at the end of the Senior recitation the janitor 
told the Doctor that the key had been found "where it 
was not lost," giving the Doctor the impression that Jw 
had mislaid it ; and no further questions were asked. 

It ma}' be of interest to know that in spite of their 
periods of frivolity, the members of the little German 
band all passed creditable examinations in the early 
summer and were duly graduated towards the end of 
June. They are now gray-headed men, but, at their 
occasional meetings, it is not difficult to understand why 
they laugh when certain incidents of their undergrad- 
uate life are recalled. 



The Change from the Free 
Academy 

Robert Abbe, '70 

T^HERE is a middle period in the life of an institu- 
tion somewhere between the first struggles of 
infancy, when all the promise and evidence of 
greatness is conspicuous, and the later period of man- 
hood and matured greatness, during which a sort 
of adolescence and forcing one's self before the world 
is the most noticeable part of existence. 

The claims of the }'oung debutant ma}'' be fitly rep- 
resented in the second quarter-century of the growth of 
our College. 

Ambition was justified b}^ an already fine array of 
noble graduates, b}" a well ordered and sustained college 
curriculum, and an array of officers and teachers of 
which any college could be proud. 

At this juncture, then, the claims to representation 
in the sisterhood of colleges called for a new name. 
Those who entered in 1866 with the writer had the de- 
light of joining in the christening of the College of the 

239 



240 College Life — Change from Free Academy 

City of New York, and burying the old "Free Acad- 
emy." The new name was painfully long — every one 
knew that — but it was explicit. That was enough. 

The day of the fateful change was a holiday, and 
the fete was as elaborate as imagination and precedent 
could make it. For the students, the night was the 
most memorable part of the ceremonial. 

Those were da}'s of torchlight processions such as 
were never seen before. Several years of civil war had 
accustomed the city to processions whenever a great 
battle had been won, and though the war had ended, 
the habit remained. 

On the miniature campus surrounding the fine old 
gothic structure there was enough grass to harbor as 
loyal and lust}^-lunged a lot of lovers of alma mater as 
any college needed, to celebrate its great renaming. 
Let us recall the forming of classes in procession, — each 
man with his torch, — marching and counter-marching, 
shouting and echoing, crowding and jostling, within 
and without that old iron railing; thronging the streets, 
bullying policemen, anathematizing Columbians. We 
owned the town that night. 

Speeches by the Seniors and chosen orators, which 
seemed to us undergraduates brimful of eloquence, were 
made at the angle where the flag-pole has so long stood. 
Never can we forget the impassioned eloquence of the 
poem by our renowned Edward M. Shepard, then chosen 
from the Freshman class as already a marked man. 
Raised a little above the crowd, backed up against the 




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College Life — Change from Free Academy 243 

old flag-pole, his face lighted only by the glare of a hun- 
dred torches, he seemed to the boys about as eloquent 
and brilliant as any orator who ever spoke. I have 
heard him a score of times since, in the momentous 
public gatherings of recent years, where he has been 
potent for good influence with his choice diction, stain- 
less principles, and great moral force, and it seems to 
me he looked then, as since, the embodiment of calm 
severe dignity, the champion of justice and right. 

The night was given up to shouts and revel. The 
"burial of the ancient," a delightfully carried out mock 
burial (in another comer of the grounds) of the now 
defunct "Free Academy," to which were added some 
dry-as-dust books we all voted odious, was followed by 
a noisy torchlight procession in hollow squares up 
and down Fifth Avenue. I think we extended our 
tramp to the gates of our supposed rival, Columbia, then 
at Forty- ninth Street and Madison Avenue. 

But it may well be remarked that the boys of our 
College were never given to rowdy proceedings such as 
often marked the university sports of other colleges. 
There seems to the writer to have been always in the 
minds of the City College boys a sense of serious work 
and responsibility, and of careful conservation of 
other people's welfare, because we are essentially 
children of the people, and in a socialist sense a pro- 
duct of the public purse. In this view I feel a touch 
of pride, as if the fundamental facts of social order were 
deeply rooted in the breast of every well disciplined 



244 College Life — Change from Free Academy 

scholar graduated from that great institution, the public 
school. 

To the graduates of the classes of that day, the dis- 
tinguished and venerated figure of the president, Dr. 
Horace Webster, will stand out as long as memory lasts. 
A large, classic-featured gentleman, whose searching eye 
and mobile lips fixed one's attention, taught us all a bet- 
ter way to do everything which we alread}' had thought 
w^e were doing well. His frequent unexpected advent 
in the class-room was alwa^'s pleasant to the boys. 
Professor Huntsm.an, in his arid w^ay, taught us philos- 
ophy, but we felt he was ably seconded by Dr. Webster 
when once in a while he would drop in and help eluci- 
date matters. I recall a day when the discussion of 
"responsibility" was to the fore. "Pop" Webster, as 
we irreverentl}" called him, said to the classman reciting, 
" If a bird flies over your head, 3'ou are not responsible, 
are you?" "No sir! " " But if a bird flies over your 
head and makes a nest in your hair, you are responsible 
are you not?" This was one of the self-evident and 
clarifying ways b}^ which he often helped out. 

How our views change with the 3'ears, and how 
interesting and valuable now seems the dry learning of 
philosophy and metaphysics and political econoni}'! 

Dear old Professor Barton, who taught us English 
by the homely but impressive method of making it 
pleasant, who can forget his admonition to a rough 
member by forcing down his throat the definition of 
Sir Philip Sidne}^ of a "gentleman," "high thoughts 




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College Life — Change from Free Academy 247 

seated in a heart of courtesy!" What student did not 
know that the dear old Professor saved some of the 
crumbs of his frugal luncheon to feed two little mice 
who always came out of their hole under his platform 
when the class had gone ? 

Professors now gone have all left a sweet memory 
behind. Professor Docharty lightened his dry mathe- 
matical course by immensely dryer humor. Professor 
Owen was most serious in his pride of the Greek he 
taught. "Poluphloisboios," he would say, "the loud 
resounding waves," and suiting the action to the word 
the reverberation in his deep mouth would almost sound 
like breakers on the shore. 

Professor Koemer, who looked the old German 
artist that he was, was so full of the defence of simplicity 
and truthfulness in art that he would even go into fits 
of anger after a Junior exhibition, when the speakers 
had been showered with flowers packed in cord-bound 
bouquets, and tell the class that it was ' ' zutch a pity 
to dhrow doze dr-r-readful bumshells." 

Then we, too, had Professor Doremus, the incom- 
parable Doremus, florid, graphic, entrancing. His 
words of fire stirred and impressed us; as the glow of 
electric sparks he delighted to send in showers, or 
the phosphorus and red lights he could display as no 
one else. Never should it be forgotten that he was the 
pioneer in making the dry subject of chemistry alluring 
by the brilliancy of his experiment and demonstration; 
or that he represented a power in the social and public 



2.iS c"c)llc"i;c Lilc: — Change Ironi I'rcc AckKmiu' 

c\x^ i'l llu^ ('\\y llml was ;i larj^c^ faolor in pojuilarizini;" 
our iidhlo iiist il 111 ion. No ono w as t>\\M" uioix^ lo\al. 

I'l'ol lislior i no oiu> oalknl liini " Professor" I""rol>islKM") 
K'fl a slroiiL; ini|M\>ssion on llio l)o\isIi niincl anil what 
more ran 1 k' askrd ^A' a tc\uIuM".'' 1 k^ was so soriinis, 
anJ so insistent tai ro|i(,'titi(n Oil a scntiMuw until one 
c"ouI>l liiniscll' SCO that lu> simkc Ik^I tor wit li o\'ory utter 
aiu'o. Aiul tluMi, what a picture this tall scmmous Ikmiij^" 
\c\\ on the mirror o{' one's hrain. with his Ioiil; wiiul mill 
arms aj^oini^; Init so patiiMit. as il all the future lile ol 
tlu^ student ilepeiuknl on his instruetion in eloeulion. 
And then our dear Professor Tisd^all. who seemed to 
know so mueh that was |M'i>lonnd and IhwimuI luir ken 
(A Latin and (ireek. llow we enxied him! Put he 
made us lo\e the su Pieet mat ter. That was enouL;h. 

( Hit ^^\ the \er\ loins oi our (wvn PolleL;e eanie iMie of 
the Pist teaeluM's who e\(.M- won the esteem I'f his juipils, 
Adolph Werner. IPs life lon^ serxdei^ to the inlelleet- 
iial i^rttwth ^A {\]c horde of eit \- \( nit lis wlu> ha\'e entered 
^nw ('ollej^e and _L:one out into eommereial life \the 
wealth produein^ jKirt iA the eommunitx'^ eannot Pe 
o<>1 imated P\ tlu^ meajjire total oi' salary paid to sueh 
\alued leaehers. 

()\ all the fascanatiui^ suPjeets, thoui:;h. that were 
laid Pel'ore us, none eaptixated as did l''rofessor I'onij")- 
ton's. lie has seen the eomiui;' aiul L^oin^^ ot more 
classes than an\- one e\"er in the taeulty. and has had 
the atleetiouate rei^ard ^A luore thousands oi students 
than au\ one, ivrhaps. in an> eoUeL;e in this oreat city. 



vv;^,x-" 




7^ 






College Life — Change from Free Academy 251 

His was a delightful subject, physics and astronomy, 
music and the stars. With him we ran the gamut, 
from surveying and drawing most perfect roads upon 
the hillside (which he called " ramps ") , to an estimate of 
the orbit of a planet. In my class it was understood, 
and told with awe, that in the previous class there was 
a man named Burchard who had exactly calculated the 
return date of a comet; such were the accuracies 
of mathematics applied in our class-room. 

In a room sacred to history and occupied by bare 
benches and a wonderful safe full of valuable coins of 
every age sat Professor Anthon, long since passed away. 
So brimful of historic facts, and yet so lenient for our 
failures! How much pain we must have given him! 
How sweet now those hours would be to us, and what 
would we not pay in coin to have them back! 

The days of the studies, the songs, and quartettes 
of the classes now forty years old have been replaced 
by years of success in every field of human work; and 
we look on the growth of the enormous classes and 
throngs who come to drink at the worshipful font of 
knov/ledge to-day, with eyes accustomed to larger hori- 
zons but still dazed and delighted with the vision of our 
new college buildings, grown up like Aladdin's palace in 
a year. 

In our da}^ such things could not have been even 
dreamed of, and we but echo the philosophic remark of 
the Chinese sage — ' ' We can imagine a limited number 
of things, but there is nothing that may not happen." 



The Later Seventies 

Lewis Sayre Burchard, '77 

T IXKINCi I ho later with the oadior '70's, like 
"Bismaivk's cii^ars, "chain-smoked," Ht each 
upon the remainder lire of its predecessor, let this 
writer take the torch from the man ahead l\v say- 
inj^- that his \-er\- tirst hour as a student of the Intro- 
ductor\- class was ]>assed under the tutorsliip of the 
author of the ]nvcedini;" article. I remember that 
hour well. It passed in what was called the Intro- 
ductory Chapel, then new. and jiresided cn-er at matins 
h\- Professor Scott, as N'iceroy or proconsul. After- 
wards christened "Natural Mistory Hall," it came to 
be described by Noble, of 'So, as cc>ntainnig "a menag- 
erie (.^f unearthl\"-looking skeletons, a whole cart full 
of jx'^culiar stones, and some impleasant models of 
people's insides, toi^ether with a festoon of intestines 
empUned for decorative ]nu'poses." "B\- what possible 
means," asks Noble, "can it be assumed that this 
blood-curdlino- precinct was ever an Introductory 
ChapeP" 

Yet there it was that Dr. — then a slender. 



College Life — The Later Seventies 255 

graceful Mr. — Abbe lifted the curtain on our five- 
act, five-year Chinese drama with an hour in drawing. 
His opening statement, that his personal, practical 
instruction in sharpening a lead pencil was at our 
service if necessary, mightily impressed me, to whom 
the preparation of a lead pencil was always a strenuous 
whittling solo without inches of pencil ever yielding 
a satisfactory point. Here at last, thought I, was a 
place where teachers appreciated what a fellow really 
wanted to acquire, and where "Learning" approached 
respectable practicality. 

We were a very young and impressionable lot, and 
I had had whatever additional impulse to suscepti- 
bility to tradition a little boy might get from having 
two older brothers at the College ahead of him. I 
had heard that in "Pop" Webster's time some stu- 
dents, looming in an Ossianic mist of heroic legend, had 
conveyed a goat into chapel, and that others, moving 
on a lower plane of laudable endeavor, had put assa- 
foetida in the stove of the Doctor's classroom. I had 
heard at our breakfast table some one read in the 
morning paper of the students taking the horses out of 
Christine Nilsson's carriage the night of her debut, 
and drawing her around to Professor Doremus's villa 
on Union Place. That seemed like the right thing, 
and suggested caps and gowns, Burschenkorps, and 
the Latin Quarter. The stuccoed Flemish turrets of 
Lexington Avenue had also a certain attractive unique- 
ness, and the Avenue front looked like Eton; but in 



2 5^ College Life — The Later Seventies 

total all thcso hardly siifticod to make a satisfyin<T^ 
atnKxs])herc o[ tradition aiul back^^round of pictur- 
es(]iieness. 

When I eanio Uji, a mciv number, to take my 
admission exams for the bilroduetory class, 1 eanLi'ht 
with a keen antiei])ator\- deli;^ht at a line anli(|ne smell 
of dead animal as somethini^" ric-hl\' jtromisinj^" seientilic 
mwsteries; but \\-h;ite\'er i^-Janior of tradition my 
willinj;' imai^inati<ni t'ondh' attached to that was shortly 
stri|)])ed a\\a\' when llarr\' \"an Kleeek of the Seniors 
told me that it came from an alliij;ator that Professor 
Drainer ^\■as stuflnii^', and I realized that our own humble 
household h;id sent ahead of me the very cause of the 
l)ioloi;ical mustiness that had entranced the olfactories 
of ho])e. Was there to be in the anti(iue line "nothing 
new under the sun"? That six-foot allij^ator corpse 
had been examined by me to satiety in our own back- 
}'aird. M^' elder brother's taxidennical enthusiasm, 
M'hich IkuI been e(]ual to i^iills and ])rairie-chickens, had 
([uailcd before the job of stutlino- a ]xn't of a ton of 
alligator, and, to get it off his hands, he had solemnl_\' 
" presentctl " it to the Dejiartmcnt of Natural History. 
To the relief of cnn- famil\- and the misery of the College, 
l')ra])er h;ul accepted it with a collector's ardor and 
proceeded to prepare it for his cabinets. I believe 
it decc^rates "Natural History Hall" to this da\-; but 
it represents for me the lirst dis] idled illusion of my 
college years. 

If one may qiuUc his t)ld Fraternit)- song, which to 




A Board in the Mathematics Room. 
"Where sixty generations have left their record. 



257 



CoUeo^e Life — The Later Seventies 259 



'& 



this day serves some of us better for ' ' Marching Through 
Georgia" than the tune's original words, 

" When we went to College, we were all on study bent; 

Hazing, smoking, et id om., were far from our intent; 

We'd not the faintest kind of thought what College really meant ; " 

and I'm afraid that, if all the truth must be told, our 
"college days" for five years were, in a cheerful, 
laborious sort of way, pretty monotonous. Four 
hours of recitation a day for five days a week allotted 
us no "study hours" in College, such as had afforded 
the boys of the '6o's some sort of opportunity for 
getting acquainted with classmates, getting up "Joke 
Clubs," and concocting other schemes. One o'clock 
or half -past found a growing youngster in the condition 
of a large spheroidal appetite surrounded by a thin 
coating of boy, which outvoted what little temptation 
there was to linger, even if Bonney pater had allowed. 
So, except as we foregathered in the halls in the five 
minutes between recitations on our way from room to 
room, or in the streets on our way to and from our 
homes, or at occasional tumultuous class-meetings, or 
in the literary societies Friday nights, or in the chapter 
rooms of our fraternities, there was almost no oppor- 
tunity for the students to "get together." I suppose 
that is why we to this day cheer and sing so wretchedly. 
There was little opportunity for the development of 
that "human interest" that makes one's four years 
at any residential college so formative and full of tra- 
dition, and so rich in reminiscence. I devoutly hope 



26o College Life — The Later Seventies 

the boys of the years to come may find more of it on 
St. Nicholas Heights. 

But, as the child's enjoyment of his toys is largely 
subjective and quite spontaneous and insuppressible, 
so that all he needs is a soap-box and the disc wheels 
of an earlier civilization to taste the joys of motoring, 
so our hungrv imaginations roamed seeking what they 
might devour. We must have been a comical and 
inventive lot of gossips. The fact that Professor 
Anthon washed his hands after each recitation, added 
to an authentic report that at home he smoked an 
enormous meerschaum pipe, seems in reminiscent 
examination to be all the ground there could have been 
for my being told that he had adopted "some kind of 
an oriental religion. " One professor they used to say 
was the son of a king and received a monthly subsidy 
as the result of some mysterious treaty renouncing all 
pretensions to the crown. At any rate he drove in good 
form a high-stepping pair of hackneys to a high cart, 
and had written a text-book on cavalry that in some 
way we connected with West Point; and some of us 
had seen an aquarelle of him in a dragoon's cuirass, 
moustachioed and whiskered a la Count d'Orsay. He 
told me of leading charges with too% of casualties 
and of taking part in the siege of Antwerp (1830); and 
whether his disabled leg was crippled or "cork," 
and how it happened, were subjects of respectful but 
curious discussion. As a politely respected but in- 
spiring and undownable mystery, that leg shared 




02 



PL, "^ 



College Life — The Later Seventies 263 

honors with the beloved enigma as to how the dashing 
Doremus had lost his arm. Another tradition was 
that a venerable professor of philosophy habitually 
lunched upon pea-soup brought to College in a 
small tin pail, and that a famous corpulent straw- 
berry had been named in his honor "the Hunts- 
man Seedling. ' ' Tutor Tisdall wore a certain aura of 
renown because our unwritten chronicles had it that 
he could play several games of chess at once blind- 
fold, and that he had met defeat with honor in the 
lists of Caissa at the hands of the invincible Paul 
Morphy. 

Thus, half in hunger for imagination's food, half 
in college patriotism, we cherished the veriest tags of 
interest that tended to prove a man anything other 
than a hearer of recitations, and welcomed a hint that 
Barton, who looked like a Hebrew prophet or a high 
Druid in a parson's coat, would tramp the countryside 
with a gun, or that he had a clandestine interest in a 
certain friendly mouse in his section-room wainscot 
and daily fed it scraps of lunch. Thus, John Jason 
Owen, whose books had been read at Oxford, was a 
personage, despite the fact that his wife fussed in upon 
him at recitation. They say she would irrupt for 
carfare — some financial accident I suppose — and 
wait while he patiently fished out the required six 
cents and called her "me dear," or "Medea," as 
George Baker's song had punned it to round out the 
couple's classical relationship. So, too, was Docharty 



264 Colleo^e Life — The Later Seventies 



'& 



a celebrity in our eyes, and Draper, Frobisher, all 
those who had "published." 

The tradition of Conipton's many-sided practical 
and scholarly ability inspired us with a sort of reflected 
pride; while above all was the glorious memory that 
President Webb, as the newly assigned commander 
of a raw brigade, had, without losing ground or for- 
mation, received the impact of the greatest charge of 
the Civil War, — Pickett's at Gettysburg. 

Every differentiation from our public-school stand- 
ards of scene or person served to stimulate this sense 
of and appetite for a peculiar or "student " atmosphere. 
Welcome, therefore, was the evolution from the three 
peripatetic or visiting teachers of our Grammar School — 
drawing-master Miller, with his neat sheets of patterns; 
delightful old George Moore with his zoological col- 
lections in. his side pockets; and the burh% bearded 
Hvatt, calling with baskets of bottles and performing 
with a Bunsen burner, a retort, and an assortment 
of glassware, sundry more or less spectacular muddle- 
ments, some of which "went oft'" delightsomely — to 
casual glimpses of Koerner's room with its talented 
amateurs sketching Venuses and Caryatids, of Draper's 
skeletons, or of the amphitheatred wonder shop of 
Doremus. 

What picturesque reminiscence attends that 
Herman Joseph Aloys Koemer, Professor of Draw- 
ing, Descriptive Geometry, and Esthetics. A little 
figure, bent, in a foreign-looking cloak and an exotic 




The Old German Room. 
Professor Werner and a few of his friends. 



265 



College Life — The Later Seventies 267 

hat, with long white hair and beard, the hair brushed 
straight back and cut off square at the seventh cervical 
vertebra, and the beard surmounted by a jolly red nose 
and adorned as to its centre with a well-marked 
Nicotian halo, he seemed like a Teutonized combin- 
ation of Clement C. Moore's St. Nicholas and Joe 
Jefferson's Rip Van Winkle. Yet he, too, carried the 
glamor we sought, for had he not exchanged the 
burscKs schldger for the revolutionist's sword with 
Carl Schurz in the '48 and, like him, fled, an exile for 
freedom, to America; and had not a certain ponderous, 
unreadable, great book of his in German, on Msthetik, 
received high praise from President Porter of Yale? 
Do you remember his disdain of English as " a jargon, " 
and his strings of blackboard notes, elaborately sub- 
divided and numbered with Roman and Arabic 
numerals and large and small letters, liberally paren- 
thesized, and abbreviated on the principle of leaving 
out the vowels; how he emphasized the importance 
of shadows by a droll dramatic rendering of the old 
"German story of Pieter Schlemihl selling his shadow 
to the devil ; how he told of creeping by the Do- 
mestic building at 14th Street and Broadway with 
its cast-iron statues, praying that it would not fall on 
him, it was so ' * oogly ' ' ? 

I recall once, when I was mulling along on a hide- 
osity a deux crayons which was supposed to represent 
the familiar mask of Dante, very undecided in my mind 
as to what was shadow and what plain dirt on the nose 



268 College Life — The Later Seventies 

of the original, how he took me by the nose, most 
comrade-like and genial, and said, "Here, you, Boor- 
kart, mek dat nose black, black, blacker 'n Hell! Yes! 
Hell, Dante, Inferno, sichst duV 

How I wish I had taken the right kind of notes 
of his Senior lectures in ".-Estetics, or the Principles 
of Biooty.'' Memory brings me these: 

"Here, you, doan' spik! Now! Arabic noomeral 
seex — The biooty (very long " u " ) of moation (very long 
"o") in annim'ls. Underline! Now, in a verticcle line, 

a, b, c, small lett'rs. Then, typiccle, a, the flea; b, the 
frog; c, the hare. A, the flea goes, so-o (gesture), three 
times so much perpendickler as it goes furder. B, the 
frog, so-o (jumping), simultaaneous; and c, the hare 
(a sudden pose that made his hair stand out behind 
him while the arm shot ahead), horizont'l. 

"Now, seven, und last, — Underline. Mittic (mythic) 
annim'ls. Verticcle a, b, c. Typiccle. A, the dragoon; 

b, the griffin, and c, the Tevvle. " Then followed elab- 
orate descriptions of the zoological combinations which 
made up "a" and "b," wound up by this: "C, der' 
Tevvle. Has body and het like a man, w^ith hoams, 
so-o, on the het; one foot regguler and one foot cloaven; 
and a tail mit a dart on the end, parentesis, not essen- 
tial, und, note, some peeple thinks it 's a god! Yes!'' 

But this runs me off the track. As the sight of 
Koemer's rooms showed us horizons past the re- 
vealings of Miller, so did even the College's modest 
natural history collections surpass the museums of old 




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College Life — The Later Seventies 271 

Mr. Moore's side pockets, and so we were impressed by 
Dr. Stratford's fascinating manikin and by a chance 
sight of Professor Draper sitting before one of his 
cabinets seriously dusting with a bellows the skeleton 
of a bird. That seemed such a knowing way to dust. 

But above all did it open the pores of our minds 
to seat ourselves under the tuition of Doremus, and 
hear ourselves called generally ' ' young gentlemen ' ' and 
one's particular self " Mister, " and plunge into stories of 
great things really done and doing in the living world 
outside, and how the reduction of atmospheric pressure 
above the boiling sugar syrup saved the sugar refiners 
some tremendous sum a year — or an hour — in coal. 
And that distinguished gentleman, who never deigned 
to harry us with small-boy recitation questions, but 
left us, like university men, if you please, to prepare 
an ambitious series of illustrated notes, had been known 
to present prizes, out of his own pocket, for superior 
performances in that line — once even the unheard-of 
munificence of a four-oared shell. A classmate's 
brother, Harry D wight, as an Introductory, had won 
such a prize and so the Dwights and I spoiled several 
Saturdays on the opening chapters of an ambitious 
series of notes, with water-color illustrations taken 
from every text-book and encyclopedia we could lay 
our hands on, with gold-paint for the brass-work, which 
if our endurance had persisted, might have won for the 
next year's Freshman class at least a yacht. 

There were others who impressed themselves on 



2 72 College Life — The Later Seventies 

memory. Professor Barton was a courtly old gentle- 
man, finely deserving Dr. Anderson's noble eulogy, but 
a delicious inconsistency of his is perhaps worth a 
moment's gossip. In his little book and in his class- 
room lecturelets, he loved to hold forth upon the fit- 
ness and beauty and preferableness of Saxon words, if 
possible, monosyllables. Yet his speech was Latinistic, 
polysyllabic, and flowed in a dignified, cadenced, 
metrical rhythm. As Dr. Anderson put it, 

"Who can forget the method of his speaking — 
The shapely words of a well-ordered mind?" 

It "burbled" in dactyls and trochees. Hearing him, 
one recalled Coleridge's 

"From long to long in solemn sort 
Slow Spondee stalks; strong foot! yet ill able 
Ever to come up with Dactyl trisyllable" 

or noted how 

" One syllable long, with one short on each side, 
Amphibrachys hastes with a stately stride." 

One could imagine his voicing even the "high-bred 
racer " of " Amphimacer " but never the jigging frivolity 
of an anapest. A sesquipedalian man, like Sidney 
Smith, he could have taken comfort unto himself in 
saying " Mesopotamia. " And so, when you tilted your 
chair, he begged to be permitted to observe, oh, so 
gently and impersonally, and in a sentence that you 
could have scanned on the blackboard, that your 
chair had been manufactured on the model of a quad- 




Apparatus Room of the Physics Department. 



273 



College Life — The Later Seventies 275 

ruped — caesura — not that of a biped. Every one of 
his students must remember his illustration of the 
Chartist banner bearing the "good old Saxon inscrip- 
tion" of "A Fair Day's Wage for a Fair Day's Work, " 
and how if they had ' ' inscribed upon their standard its 
equivalent in the Latinistic vocabulary, ' An equitable 
diurnal remuneration for an equitable diurnal operation ' 
— caesura — not a man would have joined them. ' ' 

Yet he who asked for short, special, Saxon "picture" 
words rather than Latin, long, general, and abstract 
words, edited my chum Clark's description of Greece 
(or France) in a Junior oration, as the "light-bearer to 
the nations of the west ' ' and changed it to the ' ' glorious 
benefactor" of the same, greatly to Clark's bewilder- 
ment and indignation. 

If, under stress of previous circumstances, you 
"improvised " your differentiation of a pair of Graham's 
synonyms, you stood an equal chance of hearing, "I 
like to commend a praiseworthy variation from a too 
slavish adherence to the exact verbiage of the text. 
I will give you 10. You may take your seat" ; or, just 

as blandly and kindly, "Mr. , one should bear in 

mind that the author has devoted considerable re- 
search to his presentation of the subject under discus- 
sion and, unless one can feel quite confident that one 
can improve upon the language of our author, I should 
not recommend one to depart from it. I will give 
you zero. You may take your seat. That is quite all." 
To quote Dr. Anderson again, you received 



276 College Life — The Later Seventies 

"His velvety rebuke, than sharp sword keener, 
And thrust home with an aim that never swerved," 

much as did the victim of Rupert the Headsman who 
never knew his head was off till the executioner po- 
litelv handed him a pinch of snuff, when off it rolled and 

" the victim spoke no more." 

Awesome he looked, in that straight-cut clerical 
coat, with those gaunt limbs, — with a handkerchief 
spread over one knee, — those ''quaint gnarled hands," 
that shaggy, tousled head, that bardic beard, that 
glittering heavily-browed eye, now stem, now most 
kindlv, but "take him for all in all" he was a most 
lovable gentleman, and we loved him and mourned 
him. 

But the limits of space and the reader's patience 
forbid the detail that memory loves to gambol in. In 
hastiest perspective recall Draper, with his hand be- 
hind his ear, bidding you, in a thin, high, plaintive 
voice, that belied his rotundity, to "classify" the 
most unheard of animals, or giving you a pinch of 
seidlitz powder in a w^atch crystal, which, under your 
dudheen blow-pipe, would cut up the most ridiculous 
and un-classifiable shines that never could be found in 
that funny httle "Bsedeker's Guide to Magnesia," or 
' ' the Shorter Catechism of the Known and Unknown 
Salts," — "the Youthful Alchemist's Own Handbook," 
— in which we used to look for "symptoms. " 

One ingenious youth devised the scheme of beating 




Prof. Compton in his Workshop. 



277 



College Life — The Later Seventies 279 

the book by tasting his powder, and, not being sure, 
kept at it till all was gone. As with the English rail- 
way's porter's little dog that "had 'et 'is tag, and no- 
body knew where 'e was goin'," investigation was at 
a standstill, and, like Oliver Twist, he had to go back 
to Draper for "more — " to find out that it was arsenic! 

Do you remember the suddenly exploded "Ouch!" 
and smothered cuss- words of your neighbor who, ab- 
sorbed in the performances of his parti-colored "bead," 
had forgotten how long a glass tube can stay hot? 
You do? So do I. Let 's pass on. 

Then there was Frobisher, author of Voice and 
Action, descendant of polar Sir Martin, trainer of the 
Demostheneses of the '6o's, black-bearded and hollow- 
cheeked enough to pose for Captain Kidd. He ' d put 
you through five minutes of exercise with a rubber 
strap to get your blood uj) and then bid you "speak 
LARGE and wide! — speak to that window up there at 
the other end of the chapel." When you spoke your 
piece on the stage and heard your own voice some- 
where in the remote distance sounding something 
like a tiny dog in distress under a barrel, he sat in grim 
solitude at the right of the stage, just where your 
wobbling knees showed worst — in profile, because they 
would n't stay back, — and put down marks ag'in' you. 

"Frobisher (and Faculty) to right of you, 
Faculty also to left of you, 
Faculty (and President) behind you, 
Volleyed and thundered" 



28o College Life — The Later Seventies 

with Ihoir liorriblc little books and pencils, :nnl when 
\-ou ainblod in a blue funk clown those steep stairs you 
indeed 

"rode back aijain 
Xot tlic six hundrod." 

It was a blood-ein\Ilini;' exj^erienee. 

And iliere was CHulwin. bearded like one of the 
belin-ed bushrangers of youthful reading, who bade 
\-ou "promenade" or "take two ])ieces of chalk" if 
\"ou said "l^raw the parallel lines AB and CD," in- 
stead of " the line AB and, parallel to it, the line CD." 
With him )-ou rcall\- learned to talk. More than any 
man we knew, he taui^hl us orderly, i iicriia hi c rc-dsonuv^. 

Then dear, i^olile old "Baniey" Sheldon, forever 
"shooting" his cuffs as. like a great crane, he paced, oh, 
so ([uielh'. in chapel, alwa\"s on downward antl outward 
pointing toes and with straight knees, as if he had 
]xissed the tiaws luul nights of an orderl\- \-outh in 
alteniatel>" teaching sarabands and minuets and pla\'ing 
the ghost of Hamlet's father. 

And Dr. luistace Fisher, warm and tender friend 
of so man\- of us. with his rearwanlly-curving legs, 
his red li]>s and pink com]ilexion. his fardegended 
smile:- how, 

" as a bird each fond endearment trios 
To toni]it licr ncw-flod.cfcd offsprini; lo tlio skies," 

he strove to lead us to dote ap]"»reciatingly on all the 
tropes in the sam]^les oi poetry we hacl to memorize. 




The South Chapel Stairs. 



281 



College Life — The Later Seventies 283 

We doted, hypocrites avid of marks that we were, but, 
I fear me, perfunctorily. 

Then there was F is ton, whom you could always get 
a rise out of by saying "A bas les PrussiensI"; and 
Fabregou, ever so courteous, with French like a crystal 
bell, so contrasting with the deep-chested Pays-Bas 
French of his chief of the black-ribboned monocle and 
the grimly-clipped white moustache — a French that 
always conveyed to me the conviction that indeed 
they must have sworn terribly in Flanders. It seemed 
to come 

"Acrross the sound of rrolling drrums." 

Old as he was, — and he had led his dragoons in 
1830,— he had a magnificent grip, taught me a jiu- 
jitsu trick in '77, and once rolled out in that jolly old 
word-of-command voice of his, "Burrcharrd, you're 
a good fellow: but your French is dammnnable!'' rolling 
drum accompaniment again with a bow and a laugh 
and a polite wave of the hand which made us all feel 
good and whose bonhomie warmed our hearts. He had 
the air of the old world, the high world. One missed 
the gold lace, the ribbon, and the order. 

Another vivid memory Kodak is that of Doremus 
in his photometric room. A travelled American 
woman, who knows her galleries, said, when she saw 
the photograph of Boynton's painting of Doremus in 
his cap and gown, "He looks like a Doge." Against 
the soft, rich, dark of that photometric room, where 
everything was painted a sooty, velvety, lustreless black, 



284 College Life — The Later Seventies 

the flame of his single "standard candle" threw the 
noble lines and contours of his face and head into simple 
masses of black and white, without reflected lights, 
— the darkness suppressing the modem clothing; it 
was a subject to invite the ghost of Rembrandt. 

One other painting of our day was less successful. 
They tell me the chapel of to-day looks "dingy and 
classic" as ever; but '77 saw Alma Mater, perhaps 
suddenly becoming conscious of her age, and true to 
her sex, blossom out in gay attire. It was a most 
sudden, startling, and frivolous change. The Micro- 
cosm recorded, "Chapel transformed into a mixture of 
rainbow and tea-store, and defiled by the presence of 
Introducts. " The Echo called it a "chameleonic 
outburst," and printed a parody on Dryden's Alcx- 
aiidc/s Feast about it in which the Glee Club at the 
Alumni Meeting was supposed to inflame President 
Ketchum of the Alumni and Chaimian Crawford of the 
Executive Committee, as follows: 

"Now strike the Steinway Grand again; 
A louder yet and yet a louder strain. 
Keep his lemonade ofE yonder. 
Rouse him, tenori, like a peal of thunder! 
Hark! Hark! that last great chord — 
Like a slip signed 'McG. ' 
Or, worse, the dreaded ' P. ' — 
Has brought him to his feet and leans him on the board. 

" ' Revenge! (keep time!) ' the leader cries — 
See the painters rise! 
See the scaffoldings they rear, 




The Chapel, Looking East. 
Showing the Columbus banners along the walls, and the empty stage from 
which every alumnus has held forth in oratorical turn. 



285 



College Life — The Later Seventies 287 

Dangling paint-pots in the air; 
See the yellow paint — and drab — spare our eyes! 

Behold a ghastly band, 

Each a brush in one hand, 
And a contract in the other to protect 'em. 

"Now, Alexander, Ketchum, 
And to their just doom fetch 'em! 
Look on high! 
Oh, my! 

"Behold, how they rub their red brushes on the beams — 

And now within your very view 

They paint your chapel roof a sickly blue! 
The Alumni rise despite the paint-fiends' screams: 
Alexander seized a window-pole with zeal to destroy; 

Holmes (sweet Holmes!) led the way, 

To light him to his prey. 
And, like another Helen, fired another 'Sealed 
Proposal for Painting, Kalsomining, and Decorating 
The Chapel of the College of the City of New York.' " 

And so we blossomed from schoolboys into, at 
least, potential classmen such as we had heard of and 
read of, susceptible to every suggestion that promised 
to realize college "life." 

So some of us (I remember Nelson Henry was my 
cicerone in this) carried torches from the Worth 
Monument up Fifth Avenue with the Columbia boys 
in a "Burial of the Ancient" and cheered or serenaded 
fondly-imagined Rutgers girls who were supposed to 
live in the picturesque round- towered Rutgers ' ' Female" 
College buildings opposite the Reservoir, brought 



288 College Life — The Later Seventies 

President Barnard out on the porch of his house on 
Columbia's 49th Street canijjus, and attended a songful 
and hilarious Kneipfest. Again we loumeyed to 
Rutgers, 

" On the banks of the old Raritan, " 

Princeton, and five or six other colleges, to learn how 
initiations and class-days were carried on. 

A \''acant bkxiv in Harlem — there were plenty of 
them then — c^n what is now called Lenox Avenue , over- 
looked b)' the Convent of the Sacred Heart, saw under 
the Class of '76 as Seniors the beginnings and, indeed, 
all of our fc^otball. We ranged u]^ in "twenties" 
then, with red stockings, but innocent of the guards 
and pads and jackets of mcxlern armor. The game 
was the okl "open" American game. You might 
not carr}' the ball or tackle }'our man. There were no 
signals nor formations nor mass plays nor flving 
wedges nor any of the war science of Deland and 
Walter Camj). But we did a power of running, and 
the writer carries a broken nose gained from a spirited 
but uni")lanned collision with one of the 'ybers of 
mighty nanie — Wood or Riblett or Omisby. judge 
Vernon Davis, '76, was a captain then, and Ed Weed, 
'77 (now a prosperous automobihng physician), Adju- 
tant-General Nelson Henry, '77, and his brother How- 
ard, '77, the three Kenyons, '76, '78, '81, Rushmore, 
'76 (auspicious name — lately candidate for the Supreme 
bench), Birkins, '77, Putnam, '78, Shethar, '80, recall 




The Class of '05. 

Grouped about the Chapel Stage, with the star flag, old clock, and electric 

class numerals in background. 



College Life — The Later Seventies 291 

themselves as ''scouring the plain" or clustering in 
scarlet-legged scrimmages against the twenties of N. Y. 
University, Stevens, Rutgers, and Columbia. Going 
down in the train, after a game, from the 125th Street 
station to 4 2d Street, there would be much cheering, 
but our random, ill-trained "C. C. N. Y. " never pre- 
vailed against the disciplined orthographic cheer of 
Columbia, — much to the writer's humiliation and 
sorrow. As my class went out of college the Rugby 
game began to come in, with, I think, a son of Pro- 
fessor Fabregou as a star player. In November, '77, 
our Freshmen held the Columbia Freshmen to a tie score 
of zero in a Rugby game which the Herald called "the 
most remarkable contest of the season." But we had 
too little opportunity for practice and were too light 
and lathy ever to amount to much on the then un- 
gridironed field. 

We had certain "functions," though. There used 
to be a "Junior Exhibition" every year in Steinway 
Hall, with eight or ten proud orators who took them- 
selves very seriously and carried from the stage, with 
many bows, a series of bouquets and baskets of flowers, 
as unconscious of what now seems the funniness of it 
as so many "sweet girl graduates." I remember, as 
a boy of less than eleven, the Junior Ex. of the Class of 
'69, and how I doted upon the fiery oratory of Julien, 
and my rapture when Shepard, (to me then already 
a sort of historic hero,) throwing back that dark, ro- 
mantic lock of his, quoted with immense emphasis 



292 College Life — The Later Seventies 

and a rearward pointing gesture, Holmes's lines as 
*' the words of our old college song, 

'Gone like the tenants that quit ^vithout warning, 
Down the back entry of Time.' 

No one but the famous Shepard, this small boy 
thought, would have dared venture such a humorous — 
wh}', even frivolous — quotation on such a dignified 
occasion and in the ver}' presence of the majestic 
Dr. Webster. 

At these Exhibitions, the So])homores — hardened 
and desperate wits, and to us eminently mirth- 
provoking — distributed ' ' Mock Programmes ' ' — the 
product of laborious committees solemn!}' elected in 
class meeting after much campaigning and much 
Cushing's Parliamentar\- Law. These seemed daring 
things, (undoubtedly the product of some sort of 
subterranean printing-office visited only at dead of 
night,) whose venturesome authcn's, after flinging be- 
fore a shocked public such a jcu lF esprit as "Grabyour- 
cap" for the eloquent Gratacap, '69, sim])ly took their 
futures in their reckless hands and li\-ed, even at home, 
furtive existences, ever shadowed by visions of \'isits 
from "the authorities." 

Then the Clionian and Phrenocosmian Societies — 
fondl)- called "Clionia" and " Phrenocosmia " — used 
to have gorgeous "Anniversaries" in the Academy of 
Music with Eben's band and more floods of orator}^ 
and more flowers. At one of these George A. Baker of 







o 


TS 


O 


t-l 


w 




K 


o 


H 


6/J 



o 



O 



College Life — The Later Seventies 295 

'69 read a brilliant poem in the Saxe manner, entitled 
" Fifth Avenue, " in which he roasted Columbia and 
apostrophized the newly-named College. To these 
Anniversaries, the Board of Trustees used to vote a 
modest "subsidy" of $200, the last being received by 
the Clionian Society for its twenty-fifth Anniversary, 
at Chickering Hall, over which Loth, of '77, presided. 
When the Phrenocosmian came to its twenty-fifth Anni- 
versary in the spring of '77, we, to our high indignation, 
were denied the subsidy. So in a fine burst of heroics 
we determined to have it anyway, and without any 
Chickering Hall taper ing-off, but in full old-fashioned 
splendor at the Academy. And we were greatly 
fortunate in one thing, — that the "Graduate's Poem" 
on that occasion was the Rev. Dr. Joseph Anderson's 
tribute in the * ' In Memoriam ' ' quatrain to Professor 
Barton, who had died shortly before, perhaps the high- 
water mark of our College's poetical output, certainly 
of its occasional poetry. 

In those days, the chair always placed in the centre 
of the stage for the presiding officer at all meetings at 
the Academy of Music had been provided by some 
diabolically ingenious practical joker with a gilded 
head of Mephistopheles in the centre of the top of 
its frame, carefully located so as to pierce with a 
very sharp nose the exact centre of the back of Mr. 
President's head every time he sat down flushed and 
absent-minded with the fervor of his eloquence or the 
intermittent fever and ague of his stage-fright. Mr. 



296 College Life — The Later vSeventies 

President would then have to i)ut his head on one side, 
checking as dignifiedly as possible the agonized swift- 
ness of Ills movement, and let the gilded mask grin 
over his shoulder at the audience, and so involuntarily 
realize the mischievous artist's grim and curious fancy. 
I am sure every one who ever sat in that chair, from 
General Webb down to the most sadly rattled of society 
presidents, (which was I,) will remember the torment 
of that nose and the vicious prod it gave to his brief 
hour of ])residential dignity, and his occipital bone. I 
used to notice them and enjoy their sur])rise when they 
sat down and their feeble ])retence of choosing that pen- 
sively inclined ])ose not too suddenly but as if they 
happened to prefer it. 

Then they used to have ' ' Kelly Prize Debates ' ' at 
the Academv with more music and flowers, and more 
proud Freshman marshals fluttering in a beribboned 
ecstasy of ])ublicitv and carrying neatly-turned ma- 
hogan\' batons adorned with long lavender streamers. 

In '77, the Kelh' Prize Debate had been omitted for 
some vears, and a conimittee of us — a joint committee 
from the Clionian and Phrenocosmian Societies — went 
before the Board of Tmstees to have it revived. Presi- 
dent William Wood, a doughty Scotch veteran, with 
a fine great snowy beard and a bright frosty eye, told 
us we might have the debate if we would argue the 
question (as he put it.) "Whetherr Frree Trrade or 
Prrotection werre prreferrable forr Amerrica. " How 
he "burred" those r's at us! Each society expressed 




^ -t^ CD 



C to 



-a aJ 



O 0) 






College Life — The Later Seventies 299 

itself as ardently willing if it might have the Free 
Trade end of the argument, but there came the dead- 
lock, and so the debate again fell through. 

It was also in '77 and at my own suggestion that, 
instead of two prizes for debate, half of the Kelly 
Fund was devoted to a prize for literary criticism. I 
remember coining the phrase "Kelly Critique" — it 
sounded so alliterative. The proposition was brought 
up in Phrenocosmia, suggested to Clionia, and the two 
societies successfully petitioned the trustees of the 
Kelly Fund to establish two prizes, — one for debate 
and one for criticism. Yancey Cohen, '78, won the first 
"Critique" Prize on "The Bard" of Gray. 

The Junior Ex. was usually signalized by the Sopho- 
mores appearing in high hats for the first time and by 
a grand Sophomore-Freshman rush in the streets, but 
a more intimate "function," perhaps because it was 
more at home among ourselves, and came around 
oftener, was the old Joint Debate in the Chapel. 

Like the May Regatta, there seemed to be some- 
thing spontaneous and indigenous about this. It was 
less pretentious than the performances in Steinway 
Hall and the Academy. There was no music, except 
such as happened to come from the weird, recurrently 
sporadic "college orchestras," (Oscar Weber, of '80, 
had one of thirty pieces,) or an occasional moribund 
and anaemic glee club that would solemnly file up on the 
high stage, swallow, get ready for the plunge, and at- 
tempt to rollick correctly and with careful part-singing 



300 College Life — The Later Seventies 

through "The Mermaid," or "Rolling down to the 
Bowling Green," or "The Flowing Bowd, " in order to 
give fond female relatives and visitors an idea as to 
what devils we were, or again would essa}' the classical 
and bumble through "The Artillerist's Oath" or "The 
Knight's Farewell," and then as solemnly file down 
again. There were no beribl;oned ushers and no 
famih^ flowers, and the speakers were not so apt to be 
scared to death. 

After Hanford Cra^^iord had proved to the satis- 
faction of the judges in spite of desperate opposition 
that Thackeray was a better or bigger or greater 
satirist or novelist than Dickens, and after Paul 
Krotel had nearly stood your hair on end with his 
thrilling declamation of Poe's "Telltale Heart," 
or made you raise the dust on the Gothic rafters 
over his solos, and the judges had unburdened them- 
selves of their decision, and we had cheered our 
way down-stairs, then would form the usual seren- 
ading ami}'. With 'Gene Oudin, the bright particular 
star of all our singers, to lead and to take the mel- 
lowest of fanc}' top-notes in 

" Then come, love, come, and do not fear; 
My bark lies on the other shore; 
And all I ask is Sally" [top-note] "dear, 

And then I 'm off" [with a turn by the top-note man] 
"to Baltiinore," 

and with Ruber's eccentric tenor, remarkable for being^ 
sung with his mouth nearly shut, because he "felt so, " 



College Life — The Later Seventies 301 

Howard Henry's well-trained baritone, and Krotel's 
ringing, beautiful, 

"boisterous, midnight, festive clarion," 

we felt quite proud of the noise we could make. Start- 
ing with General Webb, next door to the College, we 'd 
"roll along" Lexington Avenue and down a side 
street to Professor Docharty's, but always wound up 
for a chmax on Doremus's lawn. For were there not 
ever the memories of the horseless carriage, and stories 
that amazed students had been taken in by the genial 
Doctor to see real "wine" opened, to join in toasts 
to his " Queen of Women, " perhaps even to see Booth, 
or Ole Bull, or the radiant Christine Nilsson? Had 
not the Philharmonic assembled on this very lawn 
to serenade its President on his return from Europe? 
Here were grass and trees and a fountain and the open 
air, and we were wearing the mantle of the mightier 
men of the '6o's, who had brought out the great Colle- 
gian, packed applauding Academies, serenaded a prima 
donna, borne torches to the burial of the Free Aca- 
demy, and shot up into the night air their songs 
and cheers in welcome of the new College. From 
our hearts came our cheers when that gallantly up- 
fiung hand waved us its greeting. Then tradition 
hung heav}^ in the air above us, and the quest of 
a student atmosphere found its own. 



The Eighties 

Lewis Freeman Mott, '83 



'T^HE recollections of a student of the early 'So's 

begin with the numbered green card and the 

three davs' examination iov admission, more tem- 

ble to the schoolboy than the three days' fight 

with the dragcM\ sustained by Spenser's Red Cross 

Knight. A week or two later came the ]>ortentous list 

published In- the lhi\iht where, in most cases for the 

first time in his life, his name appeared actually printed 

in a dail\- newspaper for all New York to read. After 

a summer's mitigation of this triumph, he returned to 

the field of action, submissively joined the section to 

which he had been assigned, learned his programme and 

his wav around the buildings, and entered upon his 

live vears' climb toward the bachelor's degree. 

Rut recitations and lectures are not the whole of 

college life. More memorable, if not more important, 

is the social elenient, the contact of young minds, the 

joyous ebullition of youthful spirits. One of the first 

student associations fonned in my own class was the 

Diokonian Societ\-. an organization of high seriousness,. 

50a 



College Life — The Eighties 303 

if one may judge from the preamble to its constitution. 
This passage is, indeed, worth transcribing: "We, the 
undersigned, do declare ourselves an association for 
mutual improvement and enlarging our fund of general 
intelligence, in the pursuit of which objects, we desire 
to maintain perfect harmony in all our intercourse, to 
seek for truth in all our exercises, and have adopted 
for our government the following Constitution and 
By-laws." But seeking truth was not our only 
recreation. We also had a football club, which played 
enough successful games to puff us up with pride. The 
physical, alas! seems to have been more enduring than 
the spiritual, for at the end of the term the Diokonian 
Society peacefully died, while the football club con- 
tinued a vigorous and tumultuous existence throughout 
a span of three years. We used at first to play in a 
vacant lot at 130th Street and Sixth Avenue, but 
later received permission to hold our games on one of 
the greens in Central Park. 

The minutes of this football club contain some 
items of interest, particularly on the financial side, 
for Mammon does not seem to have smiled upon us. 
On account of the cost, there could be no cut in the 
Microcosm, and it was even necessary to levy an 
assessment in order to raise the three dollars required 
to pay for the indispensable insertion of the names of 
the officers. One treasurer's report showed the club 
to be thirty-five cents in debt. A little later a com- 
mittee on procuring for the team purple caps with 



304 College Life — The Eighties 

gold bands and tassels reported that these gorgeous 
adornments were too expensive. On another occasion 
there was a prolonged discussion of a resolution 
authorizing the treasurer to levy twenty-five cents on 
each member for the pui-pose of purchasing a new 
football, the outcome of it all being that a committee 
of three was appointed to have the old football repaired. 
Obviously our happiness was not based on riches. 
One of the duties of the recording secretar\- appears 
to have been to write in the minute book at the close of 
each session a glowing ]:)aneg>"ric of the club with a 
loft\' record of its glorious \-ictories. a task which often 
called for the exercise of considerable imagination. 
We stood on our dignity, too. for as Sophomores we 
thought it beneath us to challenge the Freshmen, and 
decided to wait for them to challenge us. That our 
meetings were not always models of parliamentary 
procedure is proved b\- such an entry as the following: 
"At this point Mr. P. (who. by the way. was presiding) 
had an umbrella fight with Mr. M.. in which Mr. M. 
was badly wounded and fell heavih* against a bench 
almost breaking it to pieces by the shock." 

I fear that our class meetings were often quite as 
disorderh*: certainly they were almost always up- 
roarious. Even in the literary societies there were 
evenuigs which would make the most excitable Euro- 
pean parliaments seem tranquil; the dignified president 
imposing right and left upon the obstreperous fines 
of ten and even of twent\--five cents, all e^f which were. 




One of the Small Rooms off the Chapel. 
Where older generations studied, others violated the laws, and more 
recent classes hung their hats — now left to the dignified idleness of age. 



305 



College Life — The Eighties 307 

as a matter of course, at the close of the evening 
excused by unanimous vote. Perhaps, on the whole, 
our most violent breach of the peace consisted of rushes 
between Sophomores and Freshmen, both in the lower 
hall of the College at recess and in the streets after 
every public exercise, these latter encounters being 
accompanied by vociferous class cheers and followed 
by parades of hoarsely singing hordes up Fifth Avenue 
and Broadway. After an exceptionally scandalous 
performance of this sort, the perpetrators would be 
lined up in the chapel, while General Webb brandished 
the sword of Gettysburg over their heads. 

The chapel was more of a centre in the '8o's than, 
owing to practical obstacles, it has lately been. The 
whole College assembled there every morning to listen 
to the reading of the Bible. Among the mischievous 
it was a favorite pastime of an afternoon to put back 
the book-mark, so that " Prexie " three or four times in 
succession would with fine unconsciousness exclaim in 
his sonorous voice; "Moab is my washpot; over Edom 
will I cast out my shoe": till the charm would be 
broken by Professor Roemer who, on mounting the 
rostrum, would read something — we imagined from 
Proverbs — in his inimitably unintelligible way, con- 
cluding with that majestic slam of the good book and 
removal of the reading-desk, which marked the transi- 
tion to the equally unintelligible announcement of the 
student orator and his subject. For Grattan, Pitt, 
Webster, and Spartacus still thundered from the stage, 



3o8 College Life — The Eighties 

while Seniors and Juniors expounded every human 
topic outside of "rehgion. pohtics. and the government 
of the College." What nobility of utterance, coldly 
marked by an iinappreciative Faculty! "Awed by the 
immensity of the infinite "'; " It is more than patriotism, 
it is philanthropic cosmopolitanism"; such phrases 
memory is loath to relinquish. 

We \\'ere also rather fond of public speech-making in 
those days. In addition to the Joint Debates in the 
chapel, the Prize Speaking either in Chickering Hall 
or Booth's Theatre, and the Commencement at the 
Academy of Music, there was the Junior Exhibition at 
Steinway Hall with its ten orations varied by inter- 
spersed selections from the College Orchestra and 
enli\'ened with the Sophomoric Mock Programme, 
" Manhattan Gas Works. Grand Annual Let Oft". *' The 
last of these exhibitions was held in '79, the ensuing 
disorders in the street having landed several of the 
oft'enders in the lock-up. But the oratorical impulse 
was too strong for suppression. The next year 
Phrenocosmia had a surplus on hand and. in order to 
spend it. the society celebrated its twenty-eighth 
anniversarv at Chickering Hall with speeches, one by 
a graduate and nine by students: "The Scholar's True 
Position." "The Greatness of Macaulay." "True 
Charity." etc. In this same year. 1S80. Clionia de- 
feated the Euclean Society of the New York University 
in a debate held in the college chapel on the subject, 
" Resolved that the English system of government is 



College Life — The Eighties 309 

more favorable to the production of great statesmen 
than that of the United States. " 

In all these activities of student life we were our own 
masters, wholly free from Faculty supervision and 
neither asking nor receiving outside assistance of any 
sort. Our elections, too, not only of class and society 
officers, but even of contestants at Prize Speaking and 
for the French translation prize, w^ere altogether in our 
own hands. Objectionable features, it must be con- 
fessed, were not absent. Our bargains and deals 
would hardly .have discredited the most expert practical 
politician, and doubtless many a political leader gained 
his earliest training in these contests. Onl}^ once, in 
my recollection, did President Webb interfere in a 
student vote. As the attendance at the weekly 
meetings of Phrenocosmia had become lamentably 
small, a group of enterprising members sought to arouse 
fresh interest in the proceedings by introducing an 
amendment to the constitution abolishing the reading 
of the Bible. For three weeks debate on this live 
question continued, earnest, vigorous, even violent, 
before a crowded house; until finally the Office got wind 
of what was going on, the wicked were obliged to 
cease from troubling, and humdrum resumed its sway. 

There was, however, one field in which the authori- 
ties appeared to us egregious tyrants, the field of 
journalism. In the fall of '78 the " Echo " gave its last 
feeble flutter and died. A little over a year later the 
" Mercury " was started by a group of Freshmen. In its 



3IO College Life — The Eighties 

first issue there was an editorial on the decay of oratory 
in the Collei^e. "Fault of the Faculty " from mere Fresh- 
men was nun-e than those gi'ave and reverend signiors 
could bear. The nianaging editor was suspended and 
the others dosed with a stent c^flieial Phihppie. Mean- 
wliile the newspapers liad taken up our cause and " Em- 
peror Alexander" was castigated by the press, while our 
leader was held up as a hero and a martyr to liberty. 
When things simmered down, as they soon did, the 
"Mereur\" quietly subniitted to the rules, and in later 
vears was e\'en taken into high favtn-. receiving officially 
inspired articles and publishing a lengthy philologi- 
cal disc^uisition by the distinguished Vice-President. 
Equalh' tractable were the " Mereur\""s " four or five 
short-lived comj^etitors. The one rebel was the "Free 
Press." published aiion\niousl\- and sold outside the 
gates In- messenger-bo vs. a i">eriodieal the chief aim 
of which was to print, much to mir nauglit>- delight, 
disrespectful squibs about the President and Faculty. 
The annual ■'Micr(,u\->sm.'" issued by the secret frater- 
nities, was then much less pretentious in fonn than its 
present rcprcseiUatix'e. It cc>nsisted chief])" of lists of 
societies, together with their members and otTicers. It 
was. I suj^iHise. an open secret that perhaps a third of 
these organizations ne\'er existed cxeeiit in these pages, 
but such spurious clubs gave opportunities for students 
to see their names in print with official titles attached. 
At one time, for example, there was a Spanish Society 
\\illi ti\'e members and six officers, so that one member 




< ^ -2 H 
S ^ U, en 

^ s ^ 

2 5-^ 

« ^^ 



College Life — The Eighties 315 

had always to serve in two capacities. On the other 
hand there was a society, The Owl and Scroll, which 
never disclosed even the real names of its membership. 
Its motto, Perfectum Silentium, was strictly enforced, 
and mystification, the very breath of its being, was a 
feature of all its proceedings. The brethren were 
designated by Greek names — ^schylus, So]jhocles, 
Pericles, Thucydides — with an exponent added to 
denote the class. All the notices on its bulletin board 
were in cypher, which only the initiated could compre- 
hend. At this distance of time, when ^schylus has 
forgotten who Sophocles was, and probably whether 
he himself was ^schylus or Sophocles, it will perhaps 
be no indiscretion to admit that, judging from the zest 
of the performance and the absence of any other 
noteworthy achievements, the sole object of this 
mysterious fraternity appears to have been the initia- 
tion of new members, a function which invariably 
gave more pleasure to the initiators than to the initiates. 
The ritual of these dark and momentous ceremonies 
leads memory to another feature of student life in those 
older days, which is now, I believe, entirely extinct. 
I recall a little white marble tombstone which stood 
for years in one of the chapel hat-rooms, removed 
thither from a corner of the campus, it was said, on 
command of a certain unfeeling Trustee. It had been 
purchased by .some class — I think 'Si — to mark the 
resting place of the ashes of a detested text-book. 
My own class performed a similar rite one evening at 



314 College Life — The Eighties 

the close of the Sophomore }^ear, the "Cremation of 
'Anal^'tics' " in what we called the Campulum. The 
yard betw^een the buildings was adorned with strings 
of Chinese lanterns. A procession of black-gowned 
students, carrying torches borrowed for the occasion 
from a generous political club, marched around the 
buildings chanting a mournful dirge, and halted under 
the lanterns to listen to the funeral orations. The 
climax of the ceremony was the burning of a copy of 
the obnoxious mathematical work by the high-priest, 
whose head was sumiounted by a gigantic fool's cap. 
The ashes were deposited in an urn which stood for 
half a generation among the bushes at the comer of 
Lexington Avenue and 23d Street. At the close of the 
ceremonial, solemnity vanished and, bursting out into a 
jubilant prpan, the noisy procession proceeded up 
Broadwa^' to an obscure oyster-house for refreshment. 
Such burials were at that time a feature common to 
almost all colleges; so, in the realm of athletics, were 
contests in football and baseball, and track -games out 
of doors, such as we used to hold ever}' spring and fall 
on the grounds of the Manhattan Athletic Club at 
50th Street and Eighth Avenue; but our College had 
one function which, so far as I know, was peculiar to 
ourselves. The Ma}' Week Vacation, established when 
all New York moved on the ist of Ma}', was marked by 
the Regatta. At a mass meeting of the entire College, 
held in the chapel a fortnight or so before, were elected 
a Commodore, always a professor or tutor, and a Vice- 



College Life — The Eighties 315 

Commodore, always a Senior. These two fixed the day 
and the destination, usually Baretta's Point. At the 
appointed time, swarms of students and many instruc- 
tors, with lunch baskets and athletic paraphernalia, 
congregated on the shores of the Harlem River, hired 
boats for the day, and then rowed valiantly to the spot 
assigned for the picnic. Sports and good-fellowship 
filled the day: but woe to the venturesome tutor who 
entered a football game with the boys, for in such a 
case victory was not though of; the game consisted in 
getting the ball into that tutor's hands and then in 
the union of both sides to down him. At length the 
Sound steamers passed, and evening saw the tired 
oarsmen creeping slowly back to the Harlem boat- 
houses. It was a good old custom, and we who en- 
joyed such outings cannot but regret its disappearance. 
But the garrulity of reminiscence meanders like the 
ceaseless brook, and yet can never reflect even an ap- 
proximately complete picture of the past. One word 
must be said, however, about the Faculty. To one looking 
back twenty-five years, it seems as though the average 
professor of that time had a greater number of strongly 
marked individual peculiarities than the professor of 
the present. Every one who attended College in the 
early '8o's will, for example, remember the stentorian 
invitation to the sinner to write and, in another room, 
the frequently reiterated command to "cease all 
folly, ' ' together with the constantly recurring entry 
in the section-book of "Continued childish frivolity," 



o 



1 6 College Life — The Eighties 



while disturbers of the peace were obHged to occupy 
the bench which backed against the heating apparatus. 
Moreover, who can forget those easily successful efforts 
to "get the old man on a string"? The topic was 
Chinese literature, perhaps; any subject was of absorb- 
ing interest, provided that it could be made to last 
long enough. Then, too, one calls to mind the de- 
sperate and almost invariably futile efforts to keep the 
discourse going, so as to shut oft" those last tifteen 
minutes of remorseless questioning. Trivial as the 
incident is, I remember one of our oldest professors of 
that time, on a morning when the rain was pouring 
in torrents — such a da}" as our newspapers now gener- 
ally announce as partly cloudy with variable winds — 
coming up to me as I stood by the window and saying. 
"This is a fine day." Then, after walking the whole 
length of the hall and back, he added with a chuckle. 
"For the ducks." 

Some of these j^eculiarities encouraged disrespectful 
and occasionally riotous behavior on the part of the 
students. In one rooni. it may be recorded, there was 
a conspiracv among four Seniors to get each in turn 
sent out for disorder, a conspiracy that was eminently 
successful in its outcome. In another, tradition 
maintains that, of a class of only three, two were sent 
to the office for inipertinence, while the third and only 
remaining one was demerited for "interrupting the 
recitation." How the Sub-freshmen looked with 
respect almost amounting to awe upon the Sophomore 




o S 

C -t-> 






O hJ 






College Life — The Eighties 319 

class that piled all the benches against the door so that 
the professor, who was in the hall, could not enter! 
How they hoped some day to emulate the great 
achievement! The boys were suspended, it is true, 
but that was a cheap penalty to pay for so heroic a 
reputation. 

Of course, such occurrences were exceptional. Disci- 
pline was generally well maintained and, although one 
member of the Faculty was reputed to be "mean 
enough to die in vacation," we usually liked our 
teachers and felt for them a high regard. The frugal 
lunches at Chelborg's Bakery, where we often sat with 
Compton, Werner, and Sim, were to us feasts of the 
gods. 

Among the most interesting characters of those days 
was certainly the Registrar and Deputy Librarian, 
Cana, with his immortal vocabulary of almost prophetic 
imprecation. One of the amusements of a dull after- 
noon was to enter the library and innocently address 
the old man as "Professor." The result was instan- 
taneous and delightfully violent. The holder of a 
professorship was obviously no object of reverence to 
Cana, and he had no hesitation in volleying out his views 
in the most expressive terms at his command. But 
even this was not the topic which showed him at his 
best. No one could appreciate the full weight, volume, 
and velocity of his vocabulary who had not listened 
to his remarks upon Dutchmen, a propos of the receipt 
•from the German publishers of a bewildering assort- 



320 College Life — The Eighties 

nient of what he called " Bands, Abtheelungs, and 
Lifenmgs." On the whole, hcnve\'er, Cana was a fine 
old fellow, frank, hearty, and kindl\-, winning from 
almost all with whom he came in contact affection and 
esteeni. When he disappeared, those who had been 
accustomed to frequent his ohice were haunted by a 
feeling of emptiness. The change there seemed almost 
like a type of the passing of the old and the coming 
of the new. 



The Early Nineties 

Arthur Guiterman, '91 

T^O you, or did you ever, keep a Memory Box? 
^^^ There is one at present lying under my desk, 
for I pulled it down from a dusty shelf and opened 
it a few days ago; and as I lifted the cover, out poured 
a whole flock of recollections of five lively years spent 
in the old red- towered building on Twenty-third Street. 
The box is a treasury of trifles that I haven't yet the 
heart to throw away; — old letters, of course; faded 
pictures of sober-faced boys who evidently took them- 
selves very seriously; photographs of some of the same 
boys costumed and posed in thrilling scenes in college 
plays; a large group of the Intercollegiate Team of 
1 89 1, all wearing the white trunks and black running- 
shirt with the diagonal lavender band that was then 
de rigueur, and looking positively tragic in their 
earnestness, posed against the ivied background of 
the college buildings; copies of the college " Mercury " 
and the college " Journal " containing solemn editorials 
beginning, "Another term has passed away," or 
"Yule-tide has come again bringing with it — , " to say 

nothing of inspired tales, and verse, excruciatingly 

321 



3^2 College Life — The Early Nineties 

funny jokes and witty personal paragraphs that have 
somehow lost their point; manuscripts of orations 
dehvered on the chapel stage to grinning Seniors on 
the front benches who were far niore interested in the 
trciuoloso movement of the speaker's knees than in 
his perfervid periods; wine-stained menus of rollicking 
1)anquets; a ci-um])led marshal's badge; programmes of 
dramatic entertainments, and many other odds and 
ends that represent college life as it was in my day. 
which is. I suppose and rather hope, college life as it is 
to-day and as it long will be. 

Perhaps distance lends enchantment, and. equallv 
perhaps, it affords a clearer, tnier pers])ective; but it 
seems as though llftcen years and more ago an essential 
harmony and unity j^ervaded our collegiate republic. 
To be sure we had our cliques and our keen personal 
rivalries; class politics often ran high; the " Mercury " 
and the "Journal " sometimes exchanged pleasantries in 
a style that wcuild have delighted the heart of the editor 
of the Arizona ' Kicker"; we had our share of good- 
natured class battles; for instance, one night after a prize 
debate, incited thereto b\- the tier}- exhortations of 
'Tviss," '88 (now known to fame as the Honorable Gon- 
zalo de Ouesada. Cuban ^Minister at Washington), a 
small but compact phalanx of the Class of '91 nished a 
large but undisciplined mob of the Class of 'qz. sweeping 
them across the car-tracks and out of Twenty-third 
Street. But aside from incidental clashes there was a 
noteworthy spirit of concord both among the students 







W 73 



Ph ^ 



W ,i5 



College Life — The Early Nineties 325 

as individuals and between the classes. We stood 
together for the College. 

I wonder whether Time has wrought many changes 
in the routine of college life? We used to tramp 
downtown in the morning carrying a greater weight 
of books than most of us would undertake to transport 
two miles or more in these degenerate days. With the 
iron gate ominously clanging behind us we entered the 
stone-flagged lower hall where, to quote a facetious 
contributor to the " Mercury," "in obedience to a sign 
that confronted us we took off our shoes and carefully 
wiped our feet. " If we had time it was customary to 
linger a while below, reading the notices of the various 
societies on the bulletin boards and discussing the 
weighty affairs of our little world. Then we climbed 
up to the chapel, found our places, surreptitiously 
copied a kind seatmate's Greek prose exercise with a 
forbidden fountain-pen, listened, I hope with due 
reverence, to President Webb's sonorous rendering of 
a chapter from the Bible, listened with entirely justified 
irreverence to two hackneyed Sophomore declamations 
and a reminiscent Junior or Senior oration, and then 
descended to our proper lecture-rooms, changing 
these hourly according to schedule with the brief but 
welcome intermission of lunch-time, until the final bell 
set us free. 

Was there ever a class that in its first passage across 
the ' ' Bridge of Sighs ' ' connecting the two divisions of 
the old buildings neglected to mark time until the re- 



3^6 College Life — The Early Nineties 

sounding passage trembled perilously,— thereby incur- 
ring the Presidential displeasure as expressed in a 
severe lecture from the chajiel pulpit on the following 
morning ? 

Was there ever a class that did n't amuse itself with 
mysterious reagents from the chemical laboratory — 
sulphuretted hydrogen b}- preference? On at least 
one occasion that odoriferous fluid w\as smuggled into 
the chapel and carefully s])rinkled over the fioor with 
wholly natural and satisfactory results, except that 
the zealous experimenter escaped detection and ex- 
pulsion. 

There was one rather thick-headed chap — in the late 
eighties, I think — who had a perfect mania for borrow^- 
ing from the laboratcn-y stores supplies of chemicals 
for original, if ])urely empirical, investigations. One 
morning two wily desk-mates so wrought upon him by 
their descriptions of wonderful reactions to be obtained 
with sulphuretted hwlrogen that he carefulh' filled 
two large test-tubes with the baleful stuff and jilaced 
them in his waistcoat pockets to carry home for 
private investigation. As he hurried through the 
swinging doors of the lecture-room, his two abandoned 
classmates simultaneously " bodychecked " him from 
either side; the test-tubes, of course, were shattered 
and the ]kxm- victim fled lit^nie for a bath and a change 
of clotliing, hating himself all the way. 

Truh', as Professor Sim used to drawl, " The Fresh- 
man is a ver-rv wicked man. His wickedness cul- 



College Life — The Early Nineties 327 

minates in the Sophomore year. There may be a slight 
improvement in the Junior and Senior terms, and 
about ten years after graduation he begins to become 
a fairly respectable citizen. ' ' In the light of experience 
I am sometimes inclined to believe that Professor 
Sim placed the time of reformation altogether too 
early. 

Do undergraduates still sing, 

" Mike Bonney lies over the ocean, 
Mike Bonney lies over the sea," 

on gala occasions when the spirit of psalmody moves 
them? At all events I am sure that Michael Angelo 
Bonney, as we always styled the dominating janitor, 
is a no less important personage now than he was in our 
day, when his own unconscious phrase, " Me an' the 
President, " pretty well expressed his position in the 
cosmogony. 

Do Jim Reed's preponderant moustaches luxuriate 
in the atmosphere of the engine-room as they did in 
former years? 

Is there — ? No, I am sure there can't be any such 
flow of EHzabethan profanity in the library as there 
was in the time of little old Mr. Cana of cherished 
memory. His demise left forever vacant the chair of 
Objurgation and Denunciation. His bursts of torrid 
eloquence nearly frightened unsophisticated Sub-fresh- 
men out of their little wits, but Juniors and Seniors, 
who by the study of literature had learned to appreciate 



3^S College Life — The Early Nineties 

ex])ressive diction, were wont to gather round the 
little man and listen to his burning words in admiration 
and despair. 

On one occasion a few of us belonging to a choice 
coterie known to the ])olice as "Murderers' Row" paid 
a social call on "Sir. Cana in his hbrary where it was our 
fortune to find the old gentleman in a j^eaceful and 
reminiscent mocKl. Me dived in among liis treasures 
and brought out to us a large portrait. "Know who 
that is?" he demanded. 

'I1ic ])icture represented a liandsome young captain 
of cuirassiers, ciu'h'-headed, dark-eyed, wearing the 
enomious black moustaches typical of Ic beau sabrcitr, 
— but we didn't recognize him as an acquaintance and 
cheerfully admitted as much. 

"Professor Roemer, " briefly explained the little 
librarian. 

Now Professor Roemer as we knew him in his kindly 
old age was like anything but that dashing young 
soldier; yet, to those with whoni he became on really 
intimate terms, he would sometimes recount a few choice 
adventures of tlie martial past. With great animation 
he would tell how, brandishing his saber, he once led a 
desperate cavalry charge in the face of a murderous 
fire. "All at cmce, " he would say at the most thrilling 
point of the narration, "I turned my head to shout 
to my troopairs. — Not a man was following me!" 

"Wh\', where were they. Professor?" was the 
invariable question. 




o 



C o 



College Life — The Early Nineties 331 

■'All dead," came the nonchalant answer. 

"But what did you do then, Professor?" 

"Oh, " he would say, with a shrug, "I got anothair 
troop. Such things do not bothair a young man." 

Dear old Professor Roemer! Sometimes there were 
little clashes that would wake the old fiery spirit, and 
then how the sparks would fly! Yet he was ever the 
embodiment of the fine courtesy of the French officer 
and gentleman of the highest order. 

Just before graduation it was customary to acquire 
photographs, signs, and other college souvenirs, and 
I asked Professor Roemer for his hkeness. Now as I 
had not elected to take French in m}^ Senior year I 
very much doubt if the Professor even knew my face — 
much less my name, but he replied with a most charm- 
ing smile, " Cer- tain-lee, — eef you will give me a 
photograph of yourself." And that, I think, was as 
delicate a bit of practical courtesy as I have ever 
encountered. 

The Dramatic Association was a highly important 
institution in the days that were. We really had one 
of the best amateur organizations in the city; our 
plays were laboriously rehearsed for months, carefully 
costumed and well staged, and we not only financed 
the Athletic Association with the proceeds of successful 
performances in town, but we also proved our inde- 
pendence of friendly audiences by carrying the bright 
torch of histrionic glory into the outlying darkness of 
Yonkers and likewise elevated the stage in the be- 



3o- CoUcl^o Life — The li.irly Nineties 

nij^htod i-Tocinois of Soutli Xonvalk. Connecticut. 

(Hu" star was unc]uestionabl\" Jinmiy llackett. who. 
though ah-ead\- a successful actor-manager, has not 
\ct attained the pre-eminence on the stage that we, 
who knew him best, are confident that his great powers 
and earnestness will eventually win. Hackett was 
easily ihc most ]x>]nilar nian in the CoHege in our time, 
and his ]x^pularity was due. not so much to his talents. 
his handsome person, or his achicvenients on the la- 
crosse and football tield and the cinder-path, as to his 
uniform good-fellowship and amiability. When he 
declaimed "Wolsey's Farewell" from the chapel 
stage the sik^ice was simply awe-inspiring, and his 
victor\- at Prize Speaking was a foregone conclusion. 

Our stage's second prop was the redoubtable Billy 
Wood of rotund figiu'e and iiTesistibh" infectious 
chuckle, a bom comedian if there e\er was one; and 
those who never saw him play '" Little Lord Fauntleroy" 
at a weight of two hundred pounds and upwards 
cannot realize the tnie inwardness of that famous role. 
Billy's bulk was deceptive: it was more beef than fat; 
he was an agile dancer, an expert wTestler, a shifty, 
haixi-hitting boxer, and a highly efficient tug-of-war 
man. He was. moreoxer. a niost adroit politician. 
In the last >ear of his long and joyous course, at the 
head of a small but well organized ring, he successfully 
dominated the Class of 'oo in the face of the opposition 
of a large and vociferous majority. How he managed 
this he still refuses to explain. Billy has now taken the 



College Life — The Early Nineties 333 

Island of Cuba under his august care and patronage 
and promises to make something out of the fair but 
tumultuous republic. If he really sets his mind to the 
task you may expect that the Empire of Cuba under 
William I. will soon annex the United States. 

Our dramatis personas likewise included Stevie 
Lutz, metamorphosed from the centre-rush of the 
football team into the most sprightly of elderly ladies; 
there was also Phil Stern, later Captain Philip H. 
Stern, veteran of two wars, whom we call "Filipino 
Phil, the Boy Terror of Luzon," though he is now 
quietly practising law down in Alabama ; and there were 
others "too numerous to mention." 

On the lacrosse field Mr. Mitchell was our tutor and 
Jack Curry was the captain who led us to victories 
that did not become monotonous by too great fre- 
quency. Yet the silver lacrosse stick, still preserved 
among the College trophies, renriains as evidence that 
our boys, though generally far younger and lighter 
than their opponents, learned how to play the game. 
Curry after his graduation was long captain of the 
famous team of the Crescent Athletic Club, and J. H. 
Greenbaum was his worthy successor on the college 
team. 

Field sports are usually considered a pretty good 
basis for military training. At all events Edgar Bell, 
who in practice once shot a goal past me clear from the 
other end of the field, afterward went to West Point 
and is, presumably, still in the service. Jack Oakes, 



334 College Life — The Early Nineties 

who once stopped a goal with his eye [lie came to college 
next da\- with the finest black e>e imaginable), also 
went to the Point, graduated second in his class, and is 
ncnv a Captain of Engineers at Washington. Incident- 
ally, there were at least four men from my class alone 
who served as officers in (\iba and the Philippines, 
so it is probable that the College was well represented 
in the "War of 1S98 and its subsequent developments. 

Scholarship? Oh. well, we took our A.B.'s or B.S.'s. 
but somehow I like best to remember that my class 
won the college games in its Sub-freshman year, and 
that it was the mainsta}' of the Dramatic Association, 
the lacrosse team, and the bicycle club. The courses 
not in the curriculum, after all. ha\'e as much to do 
with developing character, personality, and ability 
as have Latin. Greek. French, and the mathematics. 

Yet we learned much and knew how to apply our 
profound learning. This ma}' be gathered in a glance 
at the menu of the banquet that celebrated the end of 
our college da\-s in which various viands are listed as: 
" Lamellibranchiata: Myolene Swallowi. in lime. Soups: 
Aqua-Regia with the Facult\' in it. Pisces: Ganoids, 
Selachians, Placoderms, a la Devonian. Viand: Iguan- 
odon steak, caught by Professor W. S. Punch: Ethyl 
Meth\l Alcohol. Glace. Aves: Archaeopterix on car- 
bonized cereal." — So >ou see we were wise as well as 
witty. 

And to think that so many of these boys are now do- 
ing their share of the world's work, and doing it well! 



Under the Changing Rule 

Howard C. Green, '02 

"\^7HILE some may view with pride and fond 
recollection, as Alma Mater, those white- 
capped towers, rearing their stately beauty upon 
St. Nicholas Terrace, yet to many others will come, 
then, the memory of the quaint red towers of a 
smaller and vine-clad building, where amid storm 
and stress was laid the foundation of their careers. 
The impressions of those undergraduate days, and 
all their vicissitudes, are recalled to memory with 
mingled joy and regret. He of the "nineties" re- 
joices that the speculations of a new home for the 
College are now a grand reality, and he regrets that so 
many dear faces and many scenes must be now only 
the treasures of memory. 

To the graduate of 19 12 there will be no "old days," 
no fifty years of precedent to weigh upon him, to add 
veneration to the love which he also will feel for his 
Alma Mater. The man of 1902 is almost the last to re- 
member "old days" in the old building as they always 
had been. 

337 



33^ College Life — Lender Changing Rule 

He well remembers the da\' he passed in line 
through the chapel and received his numl^er for those 
dreaded entrance examinations; and how \-i\'idly ap- 
pears the picture of that room of myster\-. where, among 
strangers, and under the watchful eye of a " professor," 
he poured forth his knowledge upon large yellow sheets 
bearing only the identification number. How he won- 
dered if he were a lucky number. Those long, anxious 
days again a]"tpear. during which he dailv consulted the 
newspapers for that list which should foretell his fate. 
At length he was able to say to his friends that "he 
would enter college in the fall." During vacation he 
learned more of his future; that he was to be dubbed of 
the species. "Subby." a fact more deeply impressed 
upon him b\' the following October. 

Eight weeks' probation passed all too soon, and 
some Special Invitations came to the section and, alas! 
the "invited guests" were seen no more. Despite the 
almost over-generous lessons and the fact that the bat- 
tle had only begim. the survivor was happ}' to be still in 
the ranks. He had learned man}' things. He was con- 
vinced that the longest wa\- over the bridge to the 
Drawing Room was the safest. A stentorian voice had 
called him back once, while others escaped, and at least 
one "historical record" had been added to his fame. 
What a histor\- that section-book became and what a 
study in rhetoric! "Subby" also learned the respec- 
tive values of all the numbers from one to ten but 
almost believed that bevond nine no one of Jiis class 



College Life — Under Changing Rule 339 

could go. There were intermediate fractions, too, be- 
tween those fateful figures. He lost all faith in signs. 
The pen point might be tracing a zero when he was 
sure it was a six. 

The prospects of attending chapel, and all the glamor 
thereof, were still denied him at this period, and he still 
felt himself on very precarious ground. This he real- 
ized very keenly when the fusillade of the first day of 
"Review Exam." was over. On the second Friday he 
breathed a sigh of relief and presently was again thank- 
ful that the Secretary had not invited him to an extra 
session in the lecture-room, where the voice is not that of 
the grand old Professor expounding the wonders of 
physics, but a briefer, bitterer announcement. That 
afternoon those of the chosen few who had heard the 
tragic summons of fate learned from sympathizing 
upper-classmen of the "petition" and the medical cer- 
tificate, and each was comfortingly assured that "he 'd 
get back." But do you remember how many suc- 
ceeded ? How many only began to understand the ad- 
vantages of the City College, and "left!" 

Do you recall those exhibits of "professorial pen- 
manship ' ' behind glass in the lower hall, which all fort- 
nightly consulted, and often to our dismay? Those 
sheets called forth many an impassioned speech that 
would have been held inappropriate in recitation. 

By degrees our "Subby" learns the names of more 
of the stern individuals whom he meets in the halls 
"between the hours" strolling or chatting, and even 



340 College Life — Under Changing Rule 

joking, an attitude seemingly quite inconsistent with 
his recent experiences within the "Professor's" room. 
Every instructor to the "Subby" was a "Professor." 

Mav we dwell a little longer on these earliest recol- 
lections? Remember those hours spent in the "family 
circle" where we were told to "write, you sinners, 
write, as you would to her," and "draw this, gentle- 
men — draw this," and the interjections of "George!" 
and "Mr. Mandel, take that young man's name," and 
those jokes — good old days! Yes, and did we, 
in that year, appreciate that genial face, that eloquent 
voice, and the "marvellous experiments"? Can we not 
hear some of those wonderful phrases ring in our ears? 
How many have the book and the beautiful drawings 
made b\' each of us with so much care — or begun and 
completed in a last wild scramble on the final night 
before the books were " called in for examination " ? 

We remember that O. B. P. might mean out buying 
pretzels; and that the cost for registering among the 
immortals was often ten demerits when the gate to the 
stairs had just closed in front of us. The bulletin 
boards, as we lingered impotent in the basement, sug- 
gested to Sub-freshmen e\"es mereh' the possible dis- 
tinctions one might acquire either as an artist or as a 
member of several societies — or of all. 

We met the faithful old guardian of the repository, 
that unique character who was never too busv to plod 
from the "Office " to the dust-laden shelves to exchange 
a book or sell a two-cent note-book, which contained 






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College Life — Under Changing Rule 343 

"those" prose exercises that spoiled many a good reci- 
tation mark. We also made awed acquaintance with 
the "Boss" of the Institution, not meaning the 
President. 

At the threshold of the General's room we all remem- 
ber having waited for the kindly smile and searching 
look of "Prex," accompanied by the welcome "Come 
in ' ' — and we have returned after a brief interview with 
our card either stamped "Excused," or "Examination 
for average." Then we must "present the card" for 
the hieroglyphic endorsements. 

Now comes June, and again, indeed for the third 
time, the poor " Subby " wonders whether his recitation 
of yesterday was his last within the sanctuary. After 
more trials and anxious waiting he sees the great and 
the small fall while the victorious ones are allowed the 
pleasure of looking forward to passing the ordeals of the 
Freshman year — reported to be "the hardest year in 
college," or he still may be only a quasi-Freshman with 
weeks of cram for "re-exam." in hot September staring 
him in the face. 

In a file of the 1896 "College Mercury" one may find 
not only a series of club notices, with their respective 
illustrated headpieces and hieroglyphs, but also the 
record of various other societies of those "old days." 
There was the roisterous banjo player, the soloist of the 
Glee Club, with seemingly distorted face, the hard ped- 
dling "scorcher," and the chairman of the Literary 
Society — trying to test the strength of his gavel — so 



344 College Life — Under Changing Rule 

each society notice was headed with its suggestive cut. 
More mysterious than all were the s\'mbols of the 
"Greeks." There were, also, the Mandolin Club, Cam- 
era Club, Golf Club, Skating Clul), Iannis Club, Chess 
Club, Cricket Club, Phreno, and Clio, and the Bible 
Class of the Y. M. C. A. Neither the "Mercury" nor 
the students could keep track of all the meetings of 
these "various and divers " activities. 

We also learn from these ancient papers that in 1896 
the first glimmer of ho])e for new and larger quarters 
was realized when the bill authorizing the new build- 
ings was passed at Albany. 

The following year the College lost b)- death Profes- 
sor Hardy of the English Department, a man beloved 
and respected b}' all whose privilege it was to have 
known him. He had been with us only three years. 

After the Easter vacation of "97 some students in 
the Department of Natural History met the perplexing 
situation of calling their instructor by a new name. 
They were corrected "frequenth-"; and often, when the 
instmctor, forgetting the change himself, would correct 
the new fomi and demand the original, the dilemma was 
greater and the prospect of "maximum " dimmer. But 
this man was a father to all who came under his instruc- 
tion, and his sudden death was a personal loss to all 
who knew him. 

In the earh- ]iart of '97 we remember how over- 
energetic the Freshmen and Sophs became in the neigh- 
borhood of Madison Square. Directly the press was 



College Life — Under Changing Rule 345 

full of articles describing how college students had for- 
gotten their dignity even to the extent of a "riot." 
After this chastizing, students of C. C. N. Y. gained 
little newspaper popularity, until the subway gave 
opportunity for further picturesque journalistic exag- 
gerations. 

Subs and Juniors — forgive the comparison — may 
remember the "monster Holtz machine," which visited 
us on its way to Washington, D. C, — and how shocking 
it was! 

In '98 the Senior class obtained the temporary abol- 
ishment of the section-book, but the resulting order or 
disorder caused it to be restored to the Seniors of the fol- 
lowing year. The men of '98 even rose to the dignity 
of the Cap and Gown. This not only awed the under- 
classmen but also incurred much silent ridicule from 
other quarters. Again and again some learned Sen- 
iors ventured such scholastic insignia only to abandon 
them until that night when, sweltering in them, they 
received "all the rights, privileges, and honors," etc. 

The stirring war time of '98 is fresh in all our minds, 
but how few of us students realized how nobly the Col- 
lege answered the call to arms . 

Two undergraduates put aside their college careers 
for the camp and field — Messrs. Brockway and Inevado. 
The latter never returned, but succumbed to the fever 
camps. Not to do injustice to many valiant alumni, 
we cannot help but mention among those who saw ac- 
tive service, the fearless and noble Major Frank Keck 



o 



46 College Life — Under Changing Rule 



of '72 Avho waved his red bandanna as he led the way 
up San juan. 

B\' Christmas, '98, the a])])r(^]iriation for the new^ 
])uil(hngs was a])])n)ved and more commodious quar- 
ters seemed nearer than the horizon of (hstant hope. 
'I'lie first decided evidence of gnnvtli emphasizing the 
need for more adequate class room took the forni of a 
\'ear's lease of a floor in the MetropoHtan Life Insur- 
ance Buildin^i^, where five Sub-freshmen and four 
Freshmen sections reported about April, 1S99 — a pleas- 
ant change from the dark and imquiet curtained chapel 
rooms where both students and instructors labored 
under great difli cullies. 

Mention of the cha]x>l will remind the men c^f '99 of 
the elaborate ceremonies then instituted, when the 
numerals of '99 were illuminated upon the stage, the 
occasion being celebrated In' s]Kvch and poem. Few 
there are who have not some recollection of their (nvn 
part in some morning entertainment in the chapel or 
in the Natural History Hall — either the declamation 
ekxiuent, or the learned (^ration, ^'ou remember how 
the result of ^•()ur efforts was told by a flourish of red 
ink u]K)n a little white card, posted u]^ in the lower hall, 
and hcnv seldcnn \-ou agreed with the value there re- 
corded. The memories of the chapel are perhaps more 
numen^us than those associated with any other one 
l)art of the building. It was the scene of "curator)-" and 
remarks, class elections, class ])la>'s, the Alumni recep- 
tion, and a host of minor events too numerous to specif}'. 




V3 '^ 
C 



^ V 



be 



College Life — Under Changing Rule 349 

In April, 1899, some reckless chap attracted unwar- 
ranted attention by a fire scare in the newspapers, 
and there followed much talk about the dangers of the 
building, the increasing number of the students, the 
lack of sufficient exits, and so on. This discussion, how- 
ever, soon subsided. The guardians of the halls and 
stairways by various "gentle reminders" had well ac- 
customed us to habits which made all dismissals as 
orderly as a fire drill. 

The century year was one of both joy and of sorrow; 
the Junior class was given more electives and we remem- 
ber how many profited by experience and tried to avoid 
what seemed likely to be " dangerous. ' ' On May fourth 
Governor Roosevelt signed the bill which provided a 
Board of Trustees to control the College. These were 
to be appointed by the Mayor. As the Alumni had 
well served their Alma Mater in the Board of Education, 
now they availed themselves of this new opportunity 
and the rapid strides and growth of old C. C. N. Y. into 
a new C. C. N. Y. attest well their earnest efforts and the 
wisdom of their plans carefully executed and aided by 
our President, Dr. John Huston Finley. 

When we returned in the fall of 1900 how sadly sur- 
prised we were to find our campus narrowed and fire 
escapes added to nature's adornment of the old pile. 

Real sadness and deep regret fell like a cloud upon 
the whole institution when we learned that Conrad H. 
Nordby had passed away October 28th. The tribute 
of the " Mercury " but faintly expressed our sorrow: 



350 College Life — Under Changing Rule 

Conrad H. Nordby. — A kind and respected instructor, a loving 
husband and father, a sincere and afiEectionate friend — Conrad 
H. Nordby was in turn loved and respected by everybody. A 
man who was truly loved by all who knew him. 

It is often remarked that there was not much col- 
lege life in the social sense, but one must remember that 
he may have failed to take advantage of the opportuni- 
ties offered. There were the two Literary Societies, 
with open arms to suitable men, there were a variety of 
Clubs, as we have seen, each for some special trend of 
mind; there was the Athletic Association, so generously 
encouraged b}' some of our professors. It held the annual 
games. Think of the results of those contests under the 
handicaps of lack of practice. We did have a baseball 
nine. There were the great and stirring debates and 
the filling! ?) class dinners, each with its own aftermath. 
There was also the mutual contest among the Frater- 
nities for new and valuable members, a struggle wherein 
those precious fifteen minutes at noon were so enjoy- 
ably passed as to lead one almost to forget the lunch 
counters in the yard. Many will long remember the 
happy groups of good fellows who obstructed the vari- 
ous passages to the stairs, and other traditionally 
established ' ' comers. 

The class of 1902 was first to experience the new 
curriculum intended to extend over the seven }'ears' 
course, but u]3on the men of '02 the full advance was 
not rigidly enforced. This was also the last class whose 
diplomas were signed by General Webb. In the fall of 



College Life — Under Changing Rule 351 

1902, on behalf of the students, a beautiful loving cup 
was presented to the retiring president in appreciation 
of his long, faithful, and valuable services in the interest 
of the young men of our city. 



The Present System 

James Ambrose Farrell, '07 

npHE College has come into so many things 
* within the last few years that it requires 
considerable restraint to avoid the superlative in 
talking or writing of it. Twenty-five thousand dol- 
lar organs, thirty thousand dollar murals, and seven 
thousand pound bells do not encourage modesty. The 
"new era" has been dinned so blatantly into our 
ears that some of us forget that the four years that 
compass our direct association with the College are 
not the beginning, the middle, and the end of our Alma 
Mater's histor\\ Yet, on the other hand, we did not 
spring full-armed from the Jovian brow of Harris. 
We had to grow and to forge our armor. For a half- 
century and over our forbears busied themselves with 
the making of the panoply. Without the skill that 
they put forth in the fashioning, or the courage and 
strength they displayed when they used it before it 
was completely wrought, we have taken from them the 
goodly armor to gird upon ourselves. The greater 
part of our work has been done for us. The mail is 

352 




Entrance from the Yard. 
Looking north, to the right stood the "pie shop" in older days. The 
covered walk is a recent innovation. 



353 



College Life — The Present System 355 

ours, ours to use, if strength is given us, with fore- 
knowledge that from the armet to the sollerets, with 
equal care for the little rose and the heavy cuirass, 
every part is perfectly tempered. 

Fortunately, something was left to the present 
collegiate generation, for no work is so good but 
that other workmen can improve it. We of the past 
four years, everybody from our Ijeneficent genius, the 
City, through our Trustees and Faculty down to 
the younger tutors and the youngest student; from 
the master workmen to the humblest apprentice, all 
have burnished the well-made armor that lay darkling 
in the sight of men, until it has taken on a polish that 
makes the poorest of sight to see that the armor is 
there and that it is good. It is of this "]K)]ish" that 
I may be able to tell sf:)mething of interest to him who 
would know the College, fnmi the standpoint of the 
student, who, as a spectator, has seen at work some of 
the forces that have brought about the polish. 

The new buildings leap at once to the mind, but 
they are the result of twenty years and not of the last 
four. The graduate of the College and every other 
friend of the College knows of their history, their size, 
their equipment, and their beauty, but he knows 
nothing of the effect they have had on the men in 
College whom they have inspired with a desire to be 
worthy of the new home and all that goes with it. 
The news of every delay in the progress of the work 
has been received with impatience. The completion 



vS'> ("ollc'c I -ilr riic iVcsciil Sysltin 



•,'-. 



(>l :\\]\ |>;ir( ol llic work lli.il oiij'.lil lo l>(> ;i rmishini^ 
Iniicli li.is hccii li.iilcd Willi |(>\. W'.isliiiii'N 111 llcii'jils 

ll.lVC |(illll('t| lIlC I i;il'kjM ( tlllK I 111 CNCIN |i|.III IILmIc |)\' 

IIk" sI IK Iciil;;; cvcin .'.<uic|\ in llir ('oIKr.c h.is iii,i| i| )(>( 1 
(Mil lis Wink Willi 1 clciciu'c 111 Ihc whKt licid (ijOppor 
I iiiiil \ ( illcrci I 1 1\ I lie new I uiik liii_i;s. 

Ilniulrcil;; ( ij new |i|.iii;, li.ixc Ik-cmi iikkIc In cwcmn 
• Inci'lioii ( i| slinlcnl ,n'li\il\; ;iii(l llir rij-jil .';|iiril, llu> 
ill! Iclin.ililc .1 ( iiK >;;| ilicrc lli.il ,il ilslx-sl we r.ill " colk's^c 
S|iiril, " li.i;; Ih-coiik" Icnlokl iiidrc iiolcnl. Tlu" si icni'.th 
(Mini;', 1 il I Ins l( I rci' li. IS (•( 111 K- .il « Mil | ),i i ll\ .is ;i rclliH-l h ui 
I >l llir I M issil iilil ics JtncscHMi in llic |Miiiiiisc(I l.iiiil, .iiul 
|i,irli\ ;i.s :iii iiuw 1 1 .il ilc (•( msri hkmu'i' dl llic ci pii \;ii('ii I 
(»r Ihc S|iiril or .hkiIIum' \,iii('t\ dl il in llic innii who 
t'.inic (ii IIS ;is onr | iicsiikMil in S("| 'Irinl >(M", ino^. 
l'rc,si(l(Mil k'nikw ;il oiuc |miI liiniscll in l(MU'h, ;il cwimn' 
poinl, Willi Ins slinltMils ;iii(l h.is kt'[it in loiu'h with 
lIuMii tw or siiuHs Tins |irr.s(Mi;iI iMMil.irl has iiu'anl. 
iiuu'h III ihc nuMi in ('olk^r.c ami wilh llu> t'o o|uMalion 
ol llu' |MMSoiial lor(H> and mlluisiasni ot a \tMiiij; 
w t nkiii;', I lies I dm I main I liinr.s have I n'lMi ai'i'oin| >lislu>d 
Ihal wilhonl lliis ro o| iriat hmi niij-jil ha\r Ikhmi left 
nndi iiu\ 

Thr adininisl rat ion {A' {\\c (\A\cyc is an nnnuMisi* 
iMirdtMi. Thr |Mt>,sidrnl wants a thMii lo rrluwt.' 
him ol a iMi'at part ot ihc wmk connrrU'd with tiu' 
sn|HM\ isioit iA tlu> lonr t'olk'Ci^ rlassrs. klu' iuhmI, hui, 
loi siu'h an oIIuhm' is a|ipariM)t. ImiI wr hopi' thai 
It will Ih> \rars iu'loir th(> TrnsUH'S vmii sri> iIumt wa\ 



College J.ifc — The Present System 357 

to his apj)ointment. The fear of ofTending the modesty 
for which the president is known forbids even an 
enumeration of the things that are to be attributed 
entirely or in part to him. About a year after Dr. 
Finley's inauguration, a lower-classman had the privi- 
lege of writing, for a paper read by men in all the eastern 
colleges, of the president of City College and what he 
had done for it in a year. In an apj^reciative letter 
Dr. l^'^inJey said: "Thank }'ou for the article about 
City College. You say too much in prai.se of its 
president — " The young man to whom the letter 
was addressed had at that time a firm conviction, and 
believes still more firmly now, that to say too much 
in praise of the jjresident was a task that surpassed 
his powers, if it was not, indeed, impossible. 

With that same treasured letter, which is valued as 
the president himself prizes an encouraging letter from 
Edward Everett Hale, to "a young college president in 
the West," as he speaks of himself in an article, there 
came just a slight feeling of resefitment — though the 
word is perhaps a little too strong, — a sense that thanks 
were superfluous. It seemed like a father thanking his 
.son for aiding his own brother. In the College, surely, 
the students were all members of one family with the 
Trustees and Ivuculty, a family working together for 
the good of the College. That feeling, for which Dr. 
Finley must hold himself responsible, that all are labor- 
ing shoulder to shoulder for the good of the College, 
all striving for the good of what is dear to them simply 



35'"^ College Jjfc — The rrcsciil System 



l)iH';nisc il is dear, has tcmi-IumI its l)c>st expression under 
our wcw presidenl. He lias the k'ehnj; deep rooted 
and (weniphlies it e\'er\' moment of his hnsy (hiy. 'Pile 
most dil'lidiMit, the least enthnsiaslie JM-eshman c-annol 
fail to altsorl) sonu' of it in spite of himst>lf. With 
1 he S| lirit the president eonil )ines enoiMnons iMierj^y. 1 le 
is one of thoS(.> \v\\ men to whom {\\v awcMJ praise 
i^ixcii to vSn- W'altiM- Raleii^h by an admircM- who said 
he conid "toil ttM-ril)l\ "' ma\ \)c applicvl without sac-- 
rilit'in_L; the siv^oi" of \\\c expi'essiiui in t lu' a] •] )lieat ion. 
Alton! thrive \ears ai^o (.Meh scH'tion in tlu' ('ollei^e 
was inxitc'd to (>I(H't a delei^ate with a \iew to form- 
ins^' a IuuIn rc'itresent inj; {\\c lour elasst'S. The plan 
was eordialK i-eei'i\HHl and a vStudcMit Couneil was or- 
j^ani/.e(l. The funetion of the ('onneil is the same 
;is that of student hoards ol re| )rc>sentat ix'es at other 
eolleL;es and nmx'ersilies it is a medium throni^h 
\\ln\'h the students and I'aeulty are hrtuis^ht closer 
toL^etlu-r. ( hn- ('oimeil has justl\' earned tln' rt>putation 
of not heinj; a "mi>ddlesome l)od\. " it has thus lar 
been mereh' the- niont h| iiei-i> n{' the students in matters 
in whieh nndi>rL;raduates arc- intcM-ested, and it lias 
aidcnl the jiresident nl' {\\c ('oUej^c in arranj^ini; for the 
ohsiM'\anet' ^)( amiixtM'saries and in aseertaininj^' student 
.sentinuMit on differi-nt (|uc>stions. Itserc-alion was one 
more instanee iA' tlu- lilH-ral polie\' ol the new atlminis- 
t rat ion, and its at t it nd I- has |)ro\ed tlu- wisilom ol i^ix'ini;' 
students a fair nu-asure ^A part leipat itm in altait's in 
whit'h lluw are immediati-K' eoneiMMUHl. 




The Yard and the Bridge of Sighs. 

View looking east with main College on left, Twenty-second Street annex 

on right, and laboratory building in background. 



359 



College Life — The Present System 361 

The spirit of self-reliance has been helped further by 
the establishment of the elective system. The students 
who pass out as the first products of the a la carte service 
are thoroughly satisfied. Contrary, perhaps, to general 
expectations, their intellectual appetite and thirst 
for the waters of wisdom have shown no appreciable 
diminution. If the theory that a man who has reached 
the sophomore year at college is capable of exercising 
his own judgment holds good at other colleges, it is 
at least equally sound at City College. 

The formation of a department of physical training 
was so obvious a concomitant of the new order of things 
that the coming of a new associate professor out of the 
West created no sensation. The good work done b}' 
the new director and his assistants shouts out, in 
refutation, its answer to the good old souls who con- 
tend that physical training should have little or no 
place in the course at City College. The new gymna- 
sium has brought highly improved facilities for training 
that have already resulted in winning teams. If there 
is anything that nourishes in her sons a healthy pride 
in the College more vigorously than do teams whose 
victories are followed by a keen, proprietary sense of 
interest, we shall all be willing to deck ourselves in 
cap and gown and take our exercise in scanning 
Archilochus. 

With the interest in physical work there has come, 
inevitably, an increase along intellectual lines. 
Whether the quality of our debates has improved or 



362 College Life — The Present System 

not, there has been an undoubted increase in quantity; 
more men can speak well and debate well and the 
average ability is far higher than it w^as a few years 
ago. Our range has been increased from the moss- 
covered joint debates of the past sixty years to inter- 
collegiate debating. Before our teams the best men 
in a college known for its work along forensic lines, 
Hamilton, have twice gone down to defeat. 

Of other roads along which we have taken long 
steps in the right direction, passing the good marks 
reached b}' our predecessors, much might be said. 
That we are new, however, should not be too strongly 
insisted upon; it is only because we have had a period 
of sound 3"outh and a healthy and true maturity that 
we can put our manhood strength to its best use now. 
No one can realize more sureh' than we who stand 
at the meeting of the old and the new, just how much 
we are indebted to the old. 

We who are still in the College have new ideas, else 
were we falling short of our early promise, but we have 
old ideas too. We have with us now new men — men 
of full strength — but, worthy Senior, vain of things 
your betters caused to be, with us, also, as Eliphaz the 
Temanite said to Job, "are both the gray-headed and 
very aged men, much elder than thy father. " To the 
old men our debt is great. May we go forth with the 
obligation to pay some part of it worthih', and the will 
and strength to do. So we who form the pointer, 
the small finger between the weight of the old, on one 



College Life — The Present System 363 

side, and the new metal that is undergoing test, on the 
other, — an uncertain index, unimportant in itself but 
significant — we feel the old and the new. We shall 
stand ready to favcr either, with great love for the old 
and trusting confidence in the new. 



The College in the Civil War 



365 



The College in the Civil War* 

Henry Edward Tremain, '60 

and 

Charles F. Home, '89 

A BOUT the old "Free Academy," as the College of 
^ the City of New York was officially styled, 
until the legislative change of its name in 1866, 
there was a something in the atm(js])here inducing, 
if not inspiring, individual public S])irit and jjer- 
sonal activity in an enlarged and intelligent citizen- 
ship. H(jw this atmosphere was created, or sustained, 
it matters not. Certain it is that it was historically 
reflected in the careers of large numbers of graduates 
and non-graduates among the first dozen of the Free 
Academy classes. Perhaps the special atmosphere 
sprung from the fact, then freshly in mind both of 
students and instructors, that the institution itself 
came into being as the jjroduct of a popular vote. 

* Despite the labor given to the compilation of this record it is far 
from complete. Any one who can furnish additional, and especially per- 
sonal, information as to the Civil War record of any graduate or non- 
graduate student, will confer a favor on the Associate Alumni by com- 
municating with Mr. Home at the College. 

3*^7 



368 The College in the Civil War 

Undoubtedh' there was much to encourage this 
patriotic spirit in the course of instruction pursued, 
particularly as it i)rogressed to the higher classes, and 
entered tlie historic realm of statehood and nationality, 
with cx|)lanat()ry and legal expositions, extending into 
the elementar)' law of nations. 

Indeed the liistorvand ])urport, even to a memoriz- 
ing, of the Constitution of the United States were not 
omitted in the instruction given to some of those earlier 
classes. That this factor was not without its reflection 
U]ion individual careers is illustrated by the incident 
of one zealous graduate who on his first enlistment 
carried in his knajisack a copy of the U. S. Constitution, 
which he still preserves as a ])ers(^nal relic of the war 
period. Moreover, the honored ])resident of the In- 
stitution, himself a graduate of West Point, was fore- 
most in ])romoting this line of college sentiment and 
work. Indeed !)>• his own instruction and pronotmced 
convict icMis of its educational value he secured for 
himself and his to])ics jieculiar attention from 
his students. He believed in the building up of 
"character." 

Through his personal alliances, too, there came 
occasionalh' into the class-rooms for higher mathe- 
matics eminent military officers from West Point, who 
were also instructors and authors, and whose text-books 
were used at the United States Military Academy. It 
goes without saying that when the professor's chair 
at the Free Academv about examination time was 




The Yard Looking West. 
Twenty-second Street annex, and President Webb's house on the left. 



369 



The College in the Civil War 371 

relinquished by its rightful possessor and occupied by 
a gentleman in army uniform, the picture was not 
without its impression more or less permanent upon 
the youthful student. 

However all these features of academic hfe may 
have asserted themselves, certain it is that public 
life, and the great questions of that day that engaged it, 
furnished by no means a silent factor in the educational 
work of the old New York Free Academy. It is no won- 
der then that the continental agitation growing out of 
the repeal of the Missouri Compromise in 1854, and 
the Kansas-Nebraska Bill, and the Lincoln-Douglas 
debates of 1858, and the proceedings in Congress — 
then more closely and fully represented in the daily 
press than unfortunately is the custom of to-day — 
should find sf;me reflex in the ranks of youths ap- 
proaching manhood; and apjjroaching it too with a 
sense of public duty, more or less happily grounded 
on some reciprocity for the privileges afforded by the 
city and State. 

At all events there was no discouragement to this 
line of sentiment; and it found more or less expression 
in various individual developments among those who 
were tutored within the walls of the honored Free 
Academy, under Horace Webster, its esteemed first 
president. 

Thus possibly, if not probably, it first came about 
that the Alumni have ever been ready and eager to 
acknowledge their special obligation of public duty 



372 The College in the Civil War 

and patriotic service. The city of New York had 
.honored them al;)o\'e other citizens, had selected them 
by severe tests to become the recipients and bene- 
ficiaries of high educational training. 

If this be a debt, these men have sought ever to rec- 
ognize it, and have done somewhat to repa_\' it in every 
walk of Hfe; some of them perha|)s in every action 
of their hves. The broad opportimity came when the 
great national discussions culminated in " grim-visaged 
war." The outburst of the terrific struggle of the 
War of the Rebellion found the men cf the classes, from 
the class of 1853 upwards, youths all of them, in the 
full \'igor of youthful manhood, read}' and zealous for 
an\- jniblic duty that claimed their intelligent effort. 
It is onl\- fair to say that they were in general young 
nuMi without special so-called rank, or wealth, or 
famih-, or political influence to s];)eed their careers. 
But they entered the lists, and won their wa}' to an 
honorable death, or to an honorable survival; some 
with distinction of rank as generals and field ofiicers, 
and some in the less eminent but equally honorable 
rank of line officers or enlisted men. 

It has been found im])ossible at this late day to 
collate a complete and comprehensive list of all the 
college names in the military service. In doing as 
best we can. we may glance at the men of this type from 
the various classes, beginning with the earliest. 

From the first class graduated, that of 1853, there 
went to the front James R. Steers. He had already 















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Senior Mechanical Class. 
Taken in the yard on steps leading to the Chemical Laboratory, 
Professors Compton and Fox in front. 



373 



The College in the Civil War 375 

established himself as a lawyer, but when in 1863 
General Lee's advance into Pennsylvania threatened 
the Northern States, as indeed the very existence of 
the Union, Mr. Steers joined the Seventh Regiment, 
N. G. S. N. Y., and did duty with it as a private in the 
vicinity of Baltimore. He was summoned back with 
his regiment to quell the draft riots in New York, and 
saw active service in that work. 

Among the non-graduate members of this class 
of '53 who saw service were General Stephen Weed 
and General Gilbert H. McKibbin. Weed was only at 
the College a little over two years. Then he went to 
West Point and became an officer of the regular army. 
Hence as a professional soldier he should rather be 
credited to West Point. He was killed at Gettysburg, 
where his conduct was notable and famous. Gen- 
eral McKibbin remained at the College until within 
a few months of graduation. His military record is 
well known. At the first outbreak of hostilities he 
joined the Seventh Regiment (Company C) as a 
private. In October, 1861, he was made a Second 
Lieutenant in the U. S. service and attached to the 
51st Regiment, N. Y. Vols. He rose to be Colonel of 
this regiment, receiving the rank Dec. 9, 1864, but 
was not mustered, as he had already (Dec. 2, 1864) 
been commissioned Brevet Brigadier-General, and was 
assigned to the command of a brigade. He was after- 
ward appointed to command the sub-district of the 
Blackwater, Department of Virginia (May 25, 1865), 



37^ The College in the Civil War 

and was mustered out of service Sept. 19, 1865. Gen- 
eral McKibbin was engaged in much of the fiercest 
fighting of the war, being present at the battles of 
Roanoke Island, Newbern, Second Bull Run, Chantilly, 
South Mountain, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Vicksburg, 
Jackson, Knoxville, the Wilderness, Spottsylvania, 
Tolapotamoy, Cold Harbor, and Petersburg. At 
Petersburg he was severeh' wounded b}' a rifle shot 
through the head. He was invalided home, but im- 
mediatelv on recovery returned to the front, and 
resumed his gallant and notable service to our countr\'. 

Of the twenty-two graduates of 1854, seven laid 
aside their prosperous civilian careers to aid the 
nation in its peril. One of these, Edward King 
WiGHTMAN, perished in the strife. He had already 
won repute as a journalist on a New York paper; but 
at the first call to anus he cast advancement to the 
winds and entered the military ranks as a private in 
Hawkins' Zouaves (Ninth N. Y. Vols.). All through 
the war he fought, participating with his regiment in 
no less than fifteen engagements, rising step by step to 
be Sergeant Major; and then in January, 1865, in the 
final successful assault on Fort Fisher, he won his wa>' 
among the foremost into the heart of the fortress and 
there fell dead, sword in hand. For his bravery he was 
brevetted Lieutenant-Colonel. 

Also of this class of '54 was Rodney G. Kimball, 
Ph.D., Professor Kimball of the N. Y. State Normal 
School. He laid aside his professorship, and in '62 



The College in the Civil War 377 

formed a company, the "Normal School Company," 
of which he was made Captain. This compan}' was 
attached to the 44th N. Y. Vols., "Ellsworth's 
Avengers," and Captain Kimball commanded it at 
Fredericksburg. In February, '63, he was sent home 
on sick leave and in April was honorably discharged 
for disability incurred in service. 

A classmate and fellow-teacher of Kimball enlisted 
as a member of his company. This was Eugene 
Douglass, A.M., M.D. Douglass afterward rose to 
be Second Lieutenant in the 47th N. Y. Vols, and 
fought at Gettysburg, where a comrade describes him 
as seated on an exposed rock shooting away "as if at 
turkeys in a Thanksgiving match." Being urged to 
seek a more sheltered place, he responded uncon- 
cernedly, "Oh, I guess I won't get hit." 

Nichols H. Babcock * of this class served as a 
private in the 2 2d N. G. S. N. Y., during both its terms 
of service at the front in '62 and '63. In less violent 
but not less useful service were Charles B. White, 
Robert F. Weir, and George E. Post. Dr. White 
was commissioned as an Assistant Surgeon in May, '61, 
and served through the McClellan campaign, and at 
Chantilly and Antietam. He was afterward U. S. 
Surgeon at Pittsburg, and for his services was bre- 
vetted Major in the U. S. Army in March, '65. Dr. 
Weir had a similar though more exciting experience. 
He entered as Assistant Surgeon in the 12th N. Y. S. 

* See Mr. Steers 's reminiscences. 



378 The College in the Civil War 

militia in April, iS()i, and was transfcrrecl to the U. S. 
Ann\- service in Ani^usl. From January, iS()2, till 
March, iS()5, he was in ehars^e of the U. iS. hospital at 
Frederick, Md., a Inhldini;- whic-h ])roved a centre of 
mihtary o]ierations. It was the base hos])ital for the 
Shenandoah campaign, and for Antietam and Oettys- 
hnrg; and Or. Weir \\'as twice made prisoner b\- the 
Confederates. 

Dr. Post, whcxse career as a missionary to Syria has 
since matlc him wideh' known, served as Chaplain to 
the 15th X. \'. Vols, in 'Oi. lie actctl also as a doctor 
anil thns saw double duty through the cam]^aig"n of 
McClellan and at Fredericksburg. In F"'el:)niary, '63, he 
resigned to take up his niissionarv career. 

The class of "55 sent to the front \Vai.ti:r Brink- 
I'RnoFF. 11a.mi.in Baik^ock. Elihu D. CnrRcii. Tiiorn- 
mivK SAfxnivRS, and William M. Coll:. Mr. Cole 
enlistcil at the tirst call and fought as a jirivate at Bull 
Run in the 71st X. ^^ militia. lleserwHl fc^- two years 
anil rose tc^ be First Lieutenant in the 158th X. Y. 
\\)ls. Hamlin Babcock, a brother of Babcock, "54, 
was First Lieutenant n( Company I of the 22d N. G. 
S. N. V. dm-ing its llrst term oi ser\'ice at the front, 
ami rose afterwards to be CajUain, taking an act- 
i\'e ]iart in the su]i]iressi(,ni oi' the draft riots in 
'63. Mr. Sauntlers was commissioned as Paymaster 
(Eleventh X. \'. S. militia^ in A]iril, 'Oi. Later in the 
year he enlisted in the \-olunteers, anil in August was 
commissioned Captain. He was honorabh- discharged 







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The Colleo^e in the Civil War 381 



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in February, '62. Mr. Church enUsted in April, '61, 
in the Seventh Regiment (Company I) and served until 
honorably discharged in July, '63. Mr. Brinkerhoff 
enlisted in the Ninth N. Y. S. M. in July, '61, and 
served as a private through the entire war, receiving 
his honorable discharge in June, '65. 

From '56 came Dr. John Howe, who promptly en- 
tered as Surgeon in the First N. Y. Vols, in April, '61. 
He served through the entire war until Jul}^ '65, and 
rose to be Brigade Surgeon and Medical Director. 
From this class came also General James Lyman Van 
BuREN whose career is here recounted by his old-time 
friend and classmate Mr. Russell Sturgis. 



In 1852, at the summer examination for admission, 
James Lyman Van Buren was admitted to the Free 
Academy. He applied immediately for advancement 
by one class; and he and two other newly- admitted 
students, having been examined in mathematics and 
English, were so advanced. Immediately afterward, 
the classes were rearranged and renamed, and in this 
way Van Buren found himself a Freshman, and a 
member of the class of 1856. After graduation, July, 
1856, he began the study of law in the office of Charles 
Tracy, in New York. In i860 he travelled in Western 
Europe, and lived for some months in Germany. 

When the Civil War began he was eager to enter the 
volunteer army, and in the autumn of 1861 he received 
a commission as Second Lieutenant in a Zouave regi- 



382 The College in the Civil War 

iiKMit. which was sent iniino(hatoly with llic ox]>cdi- 
tion [o the civist o( NcMlh Caixthna. (u'lUM-al Hurnside 
conunaiukHl the latul forces; ami tieneral b'^osler the 
brii^aJe in which \'an Huren's rei^iiiKnt was inehided. 
The t'oiis at the inlet had been ocenpied hy the U. S. 
troops in Anj^nst'.and tlie arni\- laniled almost inime- 
ciiateh' on the Sonlhern cud of Roani^ke hslanil. \^an 
Hnren's prixale letters. ilescM-ibinL: the tii^ht and the 
eaptnre ot' the forts, were printeel in a jonrnal o( the 
da\. and were fonnd a most sj^ritetl and intellii^^ent 
account oi the liK^t. Alunit this time tlie s\stem of 
si>;iiallin_L;' h\' means o( tlaj^s was introduced; the nuvst 
intellii^ent olVicers were told otT to study the method, 
and \'an l>uren became sii^nai otlicer on (leneral 
h\^ster's and then i>n (icneral Hurnside's staff. h"'n>m 
that time on, he was continually with (uMieral Burn- 
side, and was pronuUed to the rank o\ Major, and (inall\- 
made Hrii^adier (leneral by brexet. 

in XoNcmber. iSo_\ Hurnside was made cmnmander 
i.i\ the Arm\- o( the Potomac, but. ilurinj;- the two 
moiuhs o\ this command. \'an Huren was ill. and on 
sick lea\e. in New N'ork with his I'athcr's family, lie 
joined the staff aj^ain before Burnside took command 
in h^ast Tennessee, when, in Aui^ust. iSd:;. Knoxville 
was taken In the United States forces, and in Xo- 
\-ember was defended aj^ainst Loni^street "s army in a 
memorable siej^e which ended in the relict ot the ]ilace 
b\- Sherman after the battle o\ Lookout AKnmtain. 
Letters from \'an Buren during the sie^e are lull ot 



The College in the Civil War 383 

the interest of warfare seen, close at hand, by a capable 
and scholarly observer. But Burnside, in command 
of the "Old Ninth Corps," came East with his staff to 
help in the final movements in Virginia, and at first, 
with his headquarters at Annapolis, was busied with 
reorganization, and the filling up of his decimated 
ranks. It was May 1864, when Van Buren reached the 
front in Virginia, after the Battle of the Wilderness. 
The operations of the Ninth Army Corps were, from this 
time, merged in those of the Army of the Potomac, and 
Van Buren was able to join personally in the assaults 
upon Petersburg which closely preceded the final 
evacuation by Lee's Confederate army of all their 
advanced posts. 

The war was over: Van Buren, already suffering 
with an increasing languor, evidently the result of the 
malaria of North Carolina, many months earlier, broke 
down altogether in health when the life under canvas 
was given up. He was confined to his chamber from 
midsummer, 1865, to the beginning of the following 
year, and died in New York in the early spring of 1866. 



In the class of '57 was Cleveland Abbe, A.M., 
Ph.D., LL.D., the esteemed head if not the actual 
founder of the U. S. Weather Bureau in Washington. 
He served in the U. S. Coast Survey from October, 
i860, to June, 1867. 

'58 contributed to the service, J. Wesley Pullman, 
Doctor William K. Hallock, and Brevet Colonel 



384 The College in the Civil War 

Alexander P. Ketchum, LL.B. Mr. Pullman, whose 
long mercantile career has been associated with Phila- 
delphia, served briefly in the Fifth Pennsylvania 
Reserves, which were called to the field during the 
Antietam campaign. Dr. Hallock offered himself as a 
volunteer surgeon at Bull Run and died of the illness 
brought on by exposure and over-exertion in care of the 
wounded. 

The record of Colonel Ketchum extends to greater 
length. Few men have rendered fuller service to their 
countrv. Even before the war his vigorous anti- 
slavery convictions had brought him into notice, his 
"Senior Address" at the College being so earnest an 
exhortation upon this theme that he was in danger of 
being refused his graduation diploma, "because of his 
radicalism." At the outbreak of the war Mr. Ketchum 
was studying law at Albany; after receiving admission 
to the bar he secured an appointment in 1864 as First 
Lieutenant in the 56th N. Y. Vols. In May, '65, he 
was appointed Captain in the 128th U. S. colored 
troops, and as aide to Generals Saxton and O. O. 
Howard he did important work in controlling the 
negroes and their relations to old landowners and in 
re-establishing order in Georgia, South Carolina, and 
Florida. He stood in the very midst of the "recon- 
struction" storm and by resolute discharge of duty 
advanced to the brevet rank of Colonel, remaining in 
the service until September, 1867. 

The class of "59 had among its members Mr. Reid 




Entrance to the Bridge of Sighs. 
Passage from the main building to the annex, Drawing Room stairs to the left. 



385 



The College in the Civil War 387 

Sanders, who served upon the Confederate side and be- 
came a prisoner of war, remaining as such for a long 
time in a Northern harbor. To the Union camps this 
class sent five men. Dr. Benjamin E. Martin served 
as Assistant Surgeon in the Fifth N. Y. Vols, from 
April, '61, until February, '62, when he resigned and 
entered the U. S. Consular Service in Germany. Dr. 
LocKwooD De Forest Woodruff rose to be Surgeon 
to the First Brigade, N. Y. S. N. G. Dr. Abraham W. 
Lozier served as an Assistant Surgeon during Grant's 
peninsula campaign of '64. Oscar B. Ireland was 
appointed in March, '63, to be Second Lieutenant in 
the Signal Corps, U. S. Vols., and was employed in im- 
portant service until his honorable discharge in August, 
'65. Asa B. Gardiner, LL.D., L.H.D., entered the 
U. S. Vol. service in May, '61, was appointed First 
Lieutenant, 31st N. Y. Vols., and was honorably dis- 
charged as Brevet Major in '66. He has since served 
in the regular army, including a detail as Professor of 
Military Law at the West Point Military Academy, 
and is now on the retired list with the rank of Lieuten- 
ant-Colonel. 

Among the non-graduate students of about this 
period who enlisted were W. G. PIowey, Walter Abbe, 
and Edward N. Kirk Talcott. Mr. Abbe served as 
a private in the N. Y. City Home Guards in 1861, 
and in the 37th N. Y. S. militia in 1862. Mr. Howey 
enlisted in '61 as First Sergeant in the Sixth N. Y. 
Cavalry. He was made prisoner and kept in Libby 



388 The College in the Civil War 

Prison for over a year, contracting malaria from which 
he finally died. Mr. Talcott. a member of the Seventh 
regiment, went to the front \\'ith his regiment. He was 
soon appointed a captain in the volunteer Engineer 
Corps, and served throughout the war, acting on the 
staffs of Gen. Gilmore and Gen. Meade. 

The class of i860, young and eager, gave fourteen 
of its graduates to the war, beside several non-graduate 
students. The alumni who served as ])rivates were 
Samuel G. Adams, Byron E. Chollar, Henry L. 
Hardt, Stephen B. Hyatt, Herbert G. Torrey, 
and Edgar Ketch um; the latter, although not a 
swimmer, was one of a few fortunate survivors who 
niade their way through the breakers from a wreck 
off Hatteras. Oscar G. Vouti^ and William Ells- 
worth (13th N. Y. Vols., '62-'63), non-graduates, also 
served as privates in the Union army. Francis 
Markoe was from a Maryland famih', and he fought 
against the Union side, rising fn^n a private in the 
First Maryland Regiment (May, '61), to be a Cap- 
tain £md staff-officer in the Confederate service. 
He was wounded in '62 and lost the use of one arm; he 
was included in the surrender at Appomattox. Dr. 
William Tiu'ralvn was acting Assistant Surgeon at 
Fortress Monroe in Ma}', '62, and was commissioned 
Assistant Surgeon Fifth N. Y. S. N. G. in July, '64. 
Frederick Hohart enlisted in the Second N. J. S. 
militia, in A]n-il, '61, and afterward in the Ninth N. J. 
Vols. He rose from the ranks to be Sereeant, Lieu- 



The College in the Civil War 389 

tenant, and then Captain in his regiment. Four times 
he was wounded in battle, at Roanoke Island and 
again at Goldsboro in '62, at Conuto Swamp, N. C, in 
'63, and at Walthall Junction, Va., in '64. In a still 
later skirmish Hobart had a bullet plough a furrow 
through his hair, leaving him practically untouched. 
Disability resulting from his wounds finally compelled 
his resignation in October, '64. 

Less fortunate than Captain Hobart in his narrow 
escapes were four members of the class who perished 
in the war. The earliest of these to die was William 
CuLLEN Bryant Gray, a relative of the poet after 
whom he was named. Gray was studying for the 
ministry, and had also, even in his undergraduate 
days, won repute in literature. At the call of his 
country, however, he laid aside his own career and 
entered the army as First Lieutenant in the Fourth 
N. Y. Heavy Artillery. His brief service at the front 
resulted in pneumonia, and he died at Washington 
January i, 1863. On his grave is carven a sentence 
from one of his own letters home: " I do not fear the 
battlefield, for I look beyond it to the delights of 
heaven. ' ' 

Charles Clarence Tracy Keith came of a South 
Carolina family; but so passionatel}^ had he become 
devoted to the anti-slavery cause that he abandoned 
the profession of law sooner than as a lawyer swear 
allegiance to the United States Constitution, which 
permitted slavery. At the celebrated New York ' ' war 



39^ The College in the Civil War 

mcctini:;" licld in Unicm Square in A]M-il, '6i, Keith 
s])rani;' siuldenly into fame as the "boy orator" who 
swept the vast crowd awa>' with him in his impassioned 
])lea foraetion, and freedom for the slaves. The orator 
eonlinned his own devotion by enlistin^:; in the ranks, 
lie was soon transferred to the Signal Service, and 
rose to h^ First Lieutenant in the Signal Corps (March, 
'()3). While on duty at Pl}'mouth, N. C, he was 
thrown from his liorse. His head struck upon a stone, 
and his l)rain was so injured that, after lingering 
for nearh' a year in ho])eless misery, he died in April, 
1864. 

More fortunate, as men ccnmt fortune, was Frank- 
lin Bi'TLiiR Croshy. for he ched suddenly in battle, 
in August, iS()i, he was commissioned Second Lieu- 
tenant in the l^'^ourth V. S. Artillery. He rose to be 
l^"'irst Lieutenant, anil in the great tight of Chancellors- 
ville he was in command of his battery. A fellow^- 
aluuuuis tells of seeing Crosb)- on the second moniing 
«)f the battle and calling to the youthful commander 
in protest at the ilanger to \\hich he ex]M\sed himself. 
Crosb\- was on luM'scback beside his guns directing their 
(ire. A splendid giant in ])h\siquc. he offered too 
fair a mark anil a bullet pierced his breast. Ib's (^wn 
men carried him a few rods to the rear. "Tell mother 
1 die ha]i]n-." said he, and his life was over. His 
jvirting words became the burden of a war-song among 
his comrades; and a rclatixc, the ]x>et William Allen 
Butler, wrote of him the following:' lines: 



The College in the Civil War 393 

He was our noblest, he was our bravest and best ! 

Tell me the post that the bravest ever have filled. 
The front of the fight ! It was his. For the rest — 

Read the list of the killed. 

On the. crown of the ridge, where the sulphurous crest 
Of the battle wave broke, in its thunder and flame. 

While his country's badge throbbed with each beat of his breast, 
He faced death when it came. 

His battery planted in front, the Brigadier cried, 

"Who commands it?" as fiercely the foe charged that way, 

Then how proudly our gallant Lieutenant replied, 
"I command it to-day!" 

There he stood by his guns; stout heart, noble form; 

Home and its cherished ones never, never so dear, 
Round him the whirlwind of battle, through the wild storm. 

Duty never so clear. 

Duty, the life of his life, his sole guiding star. 

The best joy of his being, the smile that she gave, 

Her call the music by which he marched to the war, 
Marched to a soldier's grave. 

Too well aimed, with its murderous, demonlike hiss. 
To his heart, the swift shot on its errand has flown — 

Call it rather the burning, impetuous kiss 
With which Fame weds her own! 

There he fell on the field, the flag waving above, 
Faith blending with jo}^ in his last parting breath, 

To his Saviour his soul, to his country' the love 
That was stronger than death. 



.V>l 



Tlu- (\)lKi;i' in llu- Cixil War 



All, how saiily. wilhnul liiiu, we j^o on our \\a\-, 

S|HMkiii>', solU'i^ llu- n.mii' ili.ii has (lro|i|u-cl Ironi our pravors, 
Hut as w r U'U ihi- laic lo (uir rluKlrcn to dav, 

Tlu-y shall li-ll il lo ihcii-s. 

lie is our luM'o, i'\rr inunorial and \'otui,>;', 

Willi her niarlNi's his land rlasjis him iuu\- lt> Ium" broast, 
And Willi llu-irs his lo\cd nanu^ shall l>r honorccl aiu! suui;, 

.Si ill our Immni'SI and l>(-sl ! 

Also of [\\c (.'lass oi '()o ^^'as I'anvAUP I^^raxtis 
\ orxo. Ilo IkuI 1k\mi. in C'olU\o(.\ llu> K\ukM\ the 
\aK>iliid(M'ian, ol his (.-lass. His hrilliancx' sivnuvl to 
all who kiuwN him l(^ assure him a woiuIcmMuI eaiWM". 
Mori>o\or wluMi oradiiated \\c was ahwuh' marricnl. 
Allhoijoh a \oiino father, the eall to arms iiuliieed him 
to enlist, lie was made C\i|>tain in llu^ l'\nirth X. \'. 
Ilea\\ Ai-liller\ ilmu\ 'oj^ ami ri>se raiMdl\- [o the 
rank lA' Major. The fort wlu>re he was stationed in the 
fall I'f '(>.; was near W'ashino ton. Mere, while he was 
makino ;i ni_oht tour (^f iiis|ieet ion, his horse t ripiH\l ami 
tell upon him. The \ mino Ma jor was .so eruelh' erushed 
that death eame to him as a relief iPee. jj. '(\0- 
llis hineral and Inirial in (HWMiwood C'emeleiA'. 
HrookK n, were attiMuled with tlu^ full militar\ luMiors 
due to his rank. 

Sueh were the deaths Iw whieh theelassc^f 18601x1111 
(he vleht o\ the edueation whieh its members owed lo 
their eountrx. llti.:li arnu rank was also attained b\' 
a non oiMduate. (.'ii.vRi.i's MeLiAX Kxox. who in 
Xoxemher, '01, was eommissioned Maior in the Ninth 



The College in the Civil War 395 

N. Y. Cavalry. He was honorably discharged in 
January, '64. 

Of all the members of this heroic class the one whose 
military career carried him highest in official rank was 
Henry Edwin Tkemain. Entering the army as a 
jjrivatc in the Seventh Regiment N. Y. militia, in '6j, 
he was commissioned First Lieutenant in the 73d N. Y. 
in August. In November '62, he was made Caj)tain, 
and in April, '63, Major and Aide-de-Camp. In March, 
'65, he was brevetted Lieutenant-Colonel, in June, 
Colonel, and fmally in November, '65, he received his 
brevet as Brigadier-General. General Tremain by his 
own efforts recruited a company for the vSecond Fire 
Zouaves (or 73d, N. Y. Vols.j; and won his way from 
];rivatc to brevet Brigadier-General by arduous service 
through four years of war. 

He served a year in the line, and afterwards on the 
staff; being prr)moted from the "Excelsior Brigade" 
staff successively to Division, to Corjxs, and to Army 
of the Potomac Headquarters. By the consolidation 
(1864) of the Third Army Corps he was temporarily 
rendered a suijcrnumerary; but his volunteered services 
for field duty elsewhere were promptly accepted. He 
]jartici]jate(] in many campaigns, battles, and skir- 
mishes, including the great engagements at Williams- 
burg, Fair Oaks, and Malvern Hill in the Peninsula 
campaign under McClellan, at Bristoe and Manassas 
under Pope, at Fredericksburg under Burnside, 
at Chancellorsville under Hooker, and at Gettys- 



396 riu- (DlK'i»c ill the ("\\\\ W'av 



I>iiii; iimicr Mi'.kU'. whtMC lie \\;is senior aid (Icr.iinp 
|() (l('iiiM";iI vSirklcs, comiii.iiKlmi; Tliinl Corps. AIUm" 
.•111 iii,s| t(M-| ill)', toiii" lo .ill (III' I'liioii loi'i-i'S in \\]v 
\\'(>st .iiul vSoiitli, iiu-hitlinj; ;i 1 iriff .scr\irc in ShiM'tiKin's 
All.inl.i i-;iin|);njMi, (1imum;i1 (IIumi M;ijor) TriMnain 
wliiK' in Iron! n\' I'cUmsI »iir;; JoiiuhI tlir I l(\i(l( |naf- 
(iM's of till' ( \i\ali\ (\>i"|>s, ami IIumi' coiiliniu'd to 
siM"\i' niitUM" (liMicrals Mr( lit'iM)i', (iroi;^, ( icoi'j^i' Cfook, 
and vSluM"idaii, tlnriiii', llic ranipaijMi and liatllivs Irr 
niinalinj; willi Hit' siirriMidtM- al A| t| m »inat lo\. AlttM* 
lilt" disi >andiii(Mil of Mil' (\i\alr\ ('orps \\r was ordiM"(Ml 
on Kcroii.sl iiii'l ion dnl\ in llu' ('arolinas; until linalh 
at liis own i\>(|n('Sl lie wa,s ninsliMcd out ol tlu" anii\ 
April 'olli, iS()(», li\i> wars alter cMilist inj_; as a pri\atc 
Soldier April i()lli, iS()i. lie was l"re(|iienll\ eoin- 
inended in llu> ollieial i\>ports ol In^^ (lenerals, lell a 
pi'isoiuM 111 a (•onnlereliaii'e at tlu' seeoiid l>nll Knn 
hat t le, experieiieed I lie liospit alit iivs^ ^''t ol Lil)l)\ Prison, 
and lor ■■ dist ininn.slied e.allaiit r\' " in haltle at l\t\sai'a. 
(ii'orj'ia, was awaidvnl tlu' (\>nL;ressionai " Minlal ol 
1 l( >n( >r." 

'rnrii now to the ehu;s ol '()i. Tliest* \ounj; nuMi 
liad not \cl tinrshed t lu-ir .selioolinj' wluMi vSnmtiM' was 
tired on. 1 lenei' lew n\ tluMii wiMe, like llu> nuMi ol '()0. 
amoiie, the lir.st to iMili.st, nor did tluw attain to sueh 
ad\aiUH>d iiiilitar\ rank. \'et nlltinateU twiMitx ol 
tlieiii loninl plaee in the roll ol onr eonntr\ s delendcM's. 
(M llle^;e, c\\A\[ were eoiitiMit to ser\-e as pri\atc>s. 
'Plteir nanu\s, insei'ilied npon luir roll ot Iioium", art 



The College in tlic ('ivil War 399 

'J'nivoooj^i': (1. AscoiJOH, CirAJ^ucs P. Kij^kland, wlio 
enlisted ill Aj^-il, 'Oi, in tlic 71st N. Y. S. M., William 
(-. KiMi'.ALL .'i.nd RnwiN I^\ IIydi';, now vi('(3-])rcsi(l(;nt, 
of the; ('entntl 'I'nist Co., N. Y., l)olJi of whom served 
from M.'iv to September, '62, in the 22d N. Y. Infantry, 
Jami':s II. Pullman and I^'ricdicrick j. Sladic, l)ot,h .-dso 
in the 22d N. Y. S. M. in '62, Roland (}. Mrj'ciUiLL, a 
member of the S(;vent]i N. Y. militia in (>)m|)any K., 
and Davii) j. vStakkicy, who served in the 'Hiirteenth 
N. Y. ('avalry from '62 to '05. Amonj.^ the ^]<)U-<^v;^.(\- 
uates (A thivS class was another ])rival,(;, Immncis Hill 
CoWDRiCY, recently deceased at the vSoldiers' Ih^me 
in I lampton, Va. 

GiiOiUiK Rf^jncHTs rose to be Orderly vSerj^eant of the 
Ninth N. Y. Infantry; and Edwin M. Cox to be Color 
Ser}:(eant in th(! 37th N. (). vS. N. Y., in whidi rank he 
served with the militia column co-(jperatin^ with the 
Army of th(; Potomac dni-in^f the Gettysburg cam- 
j)aign. IvA WKicNci': Kiicrnan w.-is a.];] join ted secretary 
to General Thomas I'rancis Mc^aj^her, and was com- 
missioned a Second Lieutenant, but did not serve. 
William West held a, Lieutenant's ra,nk in die 
176th N. Y. Infantry. 1)avid I). Ticrry was com- 
mission(;d Ca,i>tain of Com])any J^^, 176th N. Y. S. 
Vols, in Septemlx;!-, '62. Me served in Louisiana until 
Novemb('i-, '6^, and was honcjrably discharged. Im<i<:d- 
ERicK II. Man rose to be Captain and afterward Hr(;vet 
Major. Alkr|';i> II. Taylor beca,m(i clerk of a, dcjjot 
of volunteers in N. Y. City in 1861, and in 1862 sec- 



400 The College in the Civil War 

retarv to General Hillhouse at Alban>'. He rose to be 
Acting Assistant Adjulanl-General of N. Y. with the 
rank of Major; and in later years was Assistant Ad- 
intant-General with rank of Colonel. His services as an 
organizer of the vast army of N. Y. volunteers were 
of sterling value, though his only acti\'e military service 
during the war was in connection with the draft riots 
in New York. 

Among the commissioned officers of '6i in more 
strictly warlike service, was Lieutenant H]>:nry C. 
SklvaoI':. Immediatch' on graduating from the Col- 
lege he aided in raising a N. Y. State regiment, the 
McClellan Infantry, and was appointed one of its 
First Lieutenants. This regiment was incorporated 
with another; and Mr. Selvage, beginning his re- 
cruiting work again, hel])ed fonn another company 
and in Fcl)ruar}', '62, was commissioned Second 
Lieutenant in the Syth N. ^'. Vols. He served with 
his regiment in McClellan's cani])aign, fought at 
Williamsburg and Fair Oaks, and in the latter battle 
was wounded in the hip. Invalided home, he recom- 
menced his recruiting work, and in 1864 was a]:»pointed 
First Lieutenant of V. S. colored troojxs, but the war 
was practically at an end before he had an opportunity 
to serve in his new rank so he resigned. He was after- 
ward l)revetted First Lieutenant of N. Y. S. Vols. 

William H. Sanokr immediately after graduating 
enlisted as a })rivate in the First N. Y. Mounted Rifles. 
He was commissioned Second Lieutenant of liis com- 



The Colles^e in the Civil War 401 



pany in November, '61, First Lieutenant in December, 
and Captain in August, '62. For three years he saw 
active service in Virginia, commanded the advance 
guard at the capture of Norfolk when the ' ' Merrimac ' ' 
was blown up, and was the first Union soldier to enter 
the city. In '64 he went through the Shenandoah 
campaign as Captain in the Second N. Y. Cavalry under 
General Custer. He was twice wounded by bullets and 
once with sabre, and was once captured by the enemy, 
but escaped on the same day. He resigned from the 
service in May, 1865. 

Hon. William H. Wiley, Representative from 
New Jersey in the 59th Congress, enlisted as a 
private in the Seventh Regiment, militia, and was 
afterward commissioned First Lieutenant in the N. Y. 
S. Vols. (Company I, Independent Battalion) and set 
to the work of recruiting. In June, '62. he was ordered 
to active service in Virginia. He was transferred to 
the artillery and took part in the expedition against 
Charleston in 1863, was commissioned Captain (March, 
'63), and put in command of two companies of artillery 
during the bombardment of Fort Wagner. The ex- 
tremely youthful Captain was not yet twenty-one, and 
when the consolidation of regiments that followed on 
the capture of Fort Wagner threw him temporarily out 
of service, he returned to his professional studies. 
He was graduated as a civil engineer in '66, and in the 
interim was brevetted Major for his services at 
Charleston. 



402 The College in the Civil War 

Even more striking was the career of Gilbert 
Elliott, the ablest student of the class, whose untimely 
end is here narrated bv his brother Richmond Elliott. 



Colonel Gilbert Molleson Elliott, class of 1861, son 
of Jason and Ruth B. Elliott, was born in Thompson, 
Conn., October 7, 1840. 

His career in the Cit}- College was marked by more 
triumphs than have fallen to the lot of any other of 
her students. 

Entering the Introductory class in February, 1857, 
from Dr. Thomas Hunter's famous "No. 35," he at 
once took the front rank, and maintained it during his 
entire course. During this his first temi, he came 
within two marks of the inaximum, and even this 
extraordinary record he excelled in his first Senior 
term, when he achieved the unparalleled distinction of 
obtaining maximum for temi and examination! 

At four successive commencements he was awarded 
the Pell gold medal, the highest prize in the gift of the 
faculty. At his own commencement he was awarded 
not only the Pell medal, but also the Burr gold medal 
for excellence in mathematics, the Cromwell gold 
medal for excellence in history and belles-lettres, and 
six Ward bronze medals for marked excellence in as 
many subjects. 

Devoted as he was to his studies, he was none the 
less patriotic. Immediately following the attack on 
Fort Sumter, April. 1861, he borrowed a flag from 



The College in the Civil War 403 

Captain Ward, commandant of the Brooklyn Navy 
Yard, to be raised on the College. 

In an enthusiastic and earnest speech at the cere- 
monies of unfurling the flag (the first to be raised on 
any institution in this city) he said, "I am willing to 
offer up my life in defence of my country." 

After his graduation, abandoning his intention of 
studying law, he at once gave himself to the work of 
recruiting, and in October, 1861, he was mustered into 
the United States service, as First Lieutenant in the 
io2d Regiment, N. Y. Volunteers. In March, 1862, with 
his regiment he went to the seat of war. The young 
officer brought to the discharge of his military duties 
the same ardor and mental energy that had so signally 
distinguished him in his college career. He was 
specially commended for conspicuous gallantry and 
bravery at the battle of Antietam and was advanced 
to a captaincy. His rare intellectual and executive 
ability attracted the attention of Brigadier-General 
John W. Geary, commanding the 2d Division of the 
12th Army Corps, who requested his assignment to the 
position of ordnance officer on his Staff. In this 
position of increased responsibility he won the com- 
mendation of his superior officers. In the memorable 
battles of Fredericksburg, Chancellors ville, and Gettys- 
burg, he had provided necessary ordnance supplies 
not only for his own division, but he was able to fill 
requisitions for other division commanders. 

After the battle of Gettysburg, upon the recom- 



404 



The Cc)llcj;e' ill [he C"i\ il War 



iiuMuhilion (>l (kmum';i1s (Umfn' ;iiu1 IIooI^it. for iner- 
itoi'ious sorx'itvs, ho was inadc Ahijor in liis rcs^inuMit. 
In'tori' riMirini^ from his position as onlnaiuv onU'cr to 
lakr I'ominaiul of Iiis l);il lalioii in Iho io_nl N. \'. N'^ols., 
(he Atljnlaiit (kmummI iA his (hxision, on belialf of 
(iiMUM'al (ii'ai'N'. \\i"oli> Iiiin as follows: 

'Tlu' (umummI (.'ommauilinv^', ilrsirrs mo to convoy to you, 
oil U'axinv' his stalT lor a luoro oxti-iuK-tl spluTo ot ilut \', liis Avarin 
ai'iMwial ion ot tlu- aluliU' and nntiriiiL; imum'v^n' with whioh von 
]H'rlornu'il I lie arihions ilntios of \onr lato jmsition, and to thank 
yon thiTotoj- lie UmuUts \'on his hi>st wishes tor yoiu" siK'coss 
in \onr now lioKl ot aoiion in tho i^ri'at oanso, and trusts that 
yonr i>rosonl adxanoomont is lull 1 ho l>oi^innii\i; ot' an oKwation 
snoli as \o\i dosorxo and will nndonhtiNlh' sooinw On hohall 
(.it tho (u-noral SiatT, 1 lia\o to oxpross onr roi^rot at partiujj; 
with Aon, .md to ho|io ih.n tho Ir.ilornal rolations si> lonij 
oxistini^ hot woon us, nui\' not lio disturlioil l>y \oiu' so])aratinj4 
trom ns. 

In Soptoiubof, iSo^ tho iithaiul i.'th Afiay C'orps 
iuuKm" ( uMiofal Uookoi" w iM\> Ifaastofiwl to TcMiiiossoo to 
iviafvM'oo ihi^ Afiiix o( iho CtnnlHM'knid. (h\ Nov. 24, 
at iho JospiMMto l\i(lU^ o[ L(»okoiil Moiiiitaiii, (u\in''s 
(.livisioa o( 1 lookof's c\n-]>s was in tlio tifsl lino oi battle. 
^Fajor IClholt with tho athanoinl lino oi skifinishors 
whilo oliinlnno iho siooj^ asotMil o( tho mountain foil 
niofialK woimdoil 1>\' a ivbol sharp-shootor. In a few 
niomonts as oallanl aiul ittttvpit,! an otVioor as over 
dfow tho sw"oi\l hail pouiv.l out his \ouni;' lifo's bUnx.! 
for his oountrw l-'ulK oos^tiizant o( his appi"oaohinij[ 
ond. ho said to tho sui^oon. "Toll m\ famil\- 1 dioil 




pq 



Q 



O 

6 
o 

X o 



The College in the Civil War 407 

a brave man." His commanding general says of him, 
"He fell nobly leading the skirmishers. He has died 
the death of a brave soldier, gallantly fighting for his 
country." 

His patriotism was not of that kind assumed for 
honor or distinction merely, as is evident from an 
extract from one of his letters to his family just after the 
Gettysburg campaign. "It is little I can do towards 
helping my country in her hour of peril, but what 
I can, I will do cheerfully, even though it cost me my 
life. If I live to see the end of the war, I should be 
ashamed of my name, had not some member of my 
family helped put down the rebellion." 

In recognition of his distinguished services and 
heroic death, the posthumous ranks of Lieutenant- 
Colonel and Colonel were conferred upon him by 
President Johnson. 

His remains are interred in the family plot at 
Woodlawn. 

To this sketch might be added that Colonel Elliott 
was descended from a patriotic family. His great- 
great-grandfather was a Captain in Putnam's regi- 
ment, and lost his life at the Battle of Bunker Hill. 
It might not be amiss to add that Colonel Elliott's 
nephew and namesake, a graduate of the class of 
1886, and the first son of an alumnus to be graduated, 
served in the late Spanish war in the capacity of 
surgeon in the First Maine Infantry. 



4oS riic (\>llci;c in the C'i\ il War 

With llio class (li '()j wc approach still ycninj^or mon. 
N\4 twclwM^t" thosiMiKMV lads saw scM-\-ic'e. As priwitos 
tluMV wore Arr.rsrrs Ri:\ii:u Apa.ms, Wilson Bhkrv- 
MAX, Kxox MoAi'i:i:. Naiiiax RoiU'Ris, j ami:s David- 
son (Hon-i^railuatoK aiul Wh.i.iam K. Si.orr.M. It was 
Mr. Slocuin who canic homo on furloui;h and K^'^^^'" 
nalod in the nnil'orni (>!" his roi^iniont lyisl X. \. S. 
nnlitia). (h\ the coUci^o connnonconuMU ]M-oi;raninie 
o( '(>: appeared a notice: "Messrs. Browcr, Mc^Vfee, 
and v^locnni aiv abscMit at the scat of war .sor\-ini4 their 
eonntrx. Thex wonld it" pivsent be entitled lo s]K\ik 
on this t>eeasion." Mr. Sloenm. nnex]KVtedly fnl- 
lillinj; the ob\ionsl\- necessary conditicMi, ap]>eared 
npon the idall'oi-ni when another's name was called atul 
despite President Wchsier's rather donbtfnl approval 
dclix'ered an address amid i^reat aj^jdanse. 

lonx L. nuowi-R rose to he C'aptain and Lien- 
tenantC'olonel oi \olnnleers. Paxip 1^. Bi>:kk1':s was 
an Actinj; Assistant SurL^eon on the tield and at h^ortress 
Monroe and helped succor the released prisoners frcnn 
Andei-son\i!le. jami:s MArriii'WS TriimM': rose to be 
Lieutenant-Colonel oi the j-jlh V. S. colored troo]\s in 
Mai-ch. '(>>. C'ii.\Ri.i:s Roin:Krs was eommissi^ineil 
Second Lieutenant in the Sis.;nal I'orps in tS(\:; ami 
ser\-ed in X'iri^inia, South Carolina, and (leori^ia until 
mustered out ot' serxice in Auj^iist. "05. ^yvuo 
Micii.xiM IS, the valedictorian of his class, enlisted as a 
prix-ate in the .y^l X. CL S. X. N'. In September. "(^^ 
he xvas apjUMUted Second Lieutenant in the Sii^iial 



The Colletje in the Civil War 409 



'fc 



Corps and in November was transferred to the Ordnance 
Corps. He saw field service in the Gettysburg cam- 
paign, and in Tennessee as Chief of Ordnance on Gen- 
eral Thomas' staff, being not yet twenty-one. In 
September, '64, he was promoted to be a First Lieu- 
tenant in the regular army, and in March, '65, was 
brevetted Captain. Remaining in the service after 
the war, he rose to the rank of Major before his death. 

Richard Polk Strong of this same class enlisted 
as a private in Company H of the 71st N. Y. S. M. in 
A|)ril, '61. He returned to the College for his final 
year and then in September, '62, was commissioned 
Second Lieutenant, 139th N. Y. Infantry. Through 
the winter of '62 he was in active service in Virginia 
and then (June, '63) received his appointment as First 
Lieutenant in the Signal Corps, He was made a 
member and then president of the examining board for 
commissions in this newly organized corps. In '64, 
he served at the siege of Petersburg and in the mem- 
orable cavalry raid through Florida and Alabama. 
In March, '65, he was made brevet Captain and Major 
of volunteers. Remaining in the regular service after 
the war, he was later assigned to the artillery, and rose 
to be Lieutenant-Colonel. 

The class of '63 sent to the war only three of its 
graduates, Henry Smith Steele, who as a private in 
the Seventh Militia Regiment took part in the sup- 
jjression of the draft riots, Abraham Kipp Van Vleck, 
who was commissioned Captain in the io2d N. Y. Vols., 



4IO The CollcQ-e in the Civil War 



and H. Raymond Rowland, who served as Com- 
niissarv Clerk with General Butler's command in 
Virginia. Being, like his predecessors of '62, ab- 
sent at the seat of war Rowland was deprived of the 
pleasure of delivering his "Honorary Oration" at 
commencement . 

Of \-ouths of this period who did not wait to com- 
plete the college course, but left studies unfinished 
and courses incomplete, to serve the nation, there were 
several. William C. Abbe enlisted three separate 
times. From June to September, '62, he was in the 
37th N. G. S. N. Y. In 1863 he enlisted for a 
m(_)nth, and was wounded in the neck in a skirmish 
at Carlisle, Pa. Later in the )-ear he secured a com- 
mission as Lieutenant of U. S. colored troops and served 
at Ship Island and in the capture of Mobile, receiving 
his honorable discharge in '65. Charles Henry O'Con- 
nor, enlisting as a private in the 2 2d N. Y. Infantry in 
'62, rose to be Second Lieutenant in the 2d R. I. In- 
fantry (March, '63) and served on the staff of General 
Wheaton. He resigned in July, '63. Appleton 
Sturgis served as First Lieutenant and Aide-de- 
Camp. Henry Walton Grinnell entered the navy. 
He was appointed Acting Ensign in November, '62, 
rose to be Acting Master in Januar}', '64, and Acting 
Lieutenant in May, '65. Richard B. Greenwood, who 
was studying with the class of '64, enlisted in the 2 2d 
N. Y. militia as early as '61. John T. Nagle of the 
same class served as Acting Assistant Surgeon from 




The " College Mercury " Editorial Room. 
A gloomy den on the ground floor of the Twenty-second Street building. 



The College in the Civil War 413 

May, 1864, to June, 1865. He was commended for 
conspicuous bravery in action in the battle of Kerns- 
town, Va., and was commissioned. Assistant Surgeon in 
1865. 

Of graduate members the class of '64 sent only 
two men to the front. A. Quackenbush, Jr., served 
as a clerk in the Ordnance Department at Chattanooga 
from September, '64, to January, '65. John Abbott 
Clarkson enlisted in the ranks immediately on grad- 
uation. He was soon made a clerk in the Ordnance 
service, but had already contracted a camp fever at 
Chattanooga, and he died in hospital. 

Younger still, the last victim of a tragic record was 
Edward Sturgis. A student in the class of '65, he 
left college in February, '64, having secured his com- 
mission as First Lieutenant in the 20th Mass. Infantry. 
He was killed in action, May 10, 1864. 



The Literary Societies of the 
College 



415 



The Literary Societies of the 
C^ollejjTc 

lulw'Avd jM. C>olic, '73 

A \Al^(',\i ],:iri 'A i\i<; irathikma and reminiscences 
aHSOci*x1/;f] Vv'ilh the old f;olU;j^f: huil'linj^ ,'j,n; 
in1jrn,'i,1,f-,]y Qcmni^U/] v/ilh 1,h'; hi';tory of 1,1 k; t,v/o 
literary societies, v^/hirih practically bej^an v/ith t.l/f; 
life of the ('ollege, and many f>hases of their develop 
TfK-j]t, throw interesting h'^ht on the a^ndition-, ;i,t t.hf, 
iM',titijtiorj during the early days. Nearly all of ll-je 
<i](\cs Alumni have been membcirs either of CVumra or 
I'lirrmocosmia, and a large nutuher of the students v/ho 
h?i.ve not taken ;i. degree, for some term of their er^llegr; 
lifecnjoye<^l their benefits, and all cherii;h the memcrt-y 
of the ditys of their mcnnbership as amon^ the most 
interesting and helpful of their student life. On ihcW 
rolls are the distinguishes! Alumni who have brr>ught 
honor to Alma MatcT. A special interest is to be fonnrl 
in thf; fact that these societies were no j;art ot the 
iastituticm as f^liinne*-! by its UmndcTH. They were not 
ordaine<^l by the farrulty, hut were the spontaneous 

417 



4^^ riie Literary vSocicties of the ("ollcj^c 

exi)ivssi()n of ;i Iclt need 1)\' \\\c stiidcMits of soniothin*^^ 
to sii| )| )l(MmMit tlu> in\'scnl)c'(l coui'sc of sIikIn', aiul lo 
(k>c'|»(Mi \\\c sriisc ol coini'adc'shii) and create a eollci^c 
spiril. TluMi" |)cM'sist(MU'(', prosperity, and nsefulness 
loi" tliese mans \c\n'S indicate that the\' represent and 
express ideas and ideals that are lastini^". 

The l^'i'ee iXeadeniN' opened its dooi\s |annar\' 15, 
iS.|(). Stndents wcM'i' achnit tiMl from the schools e\'er\' 
six months, the lirst class enteiani; {'"ehrnarw iS.jo.and 
in the autnnin of 1S51 six t"lasses had heen riwMN'cd, 
eai'h called attci- the letters of the alphahi't, the oldest 
desiiMiated "A," in accordance with the plan at West 
l\)int, from whii'h the Acadi'iny adopted many ideas 
l)esi(les its matliematieal conrse. With a free lield, 
without traditions, withont piHH'cdcMitor experiein'e to 
^uide them, with no bond i^^ union het wecMi the dilTcrcMit, 
classes, the stud(,Mits conceix'cd the idea that the classes 
could he hest unitcMl and a collei;c' scMitinuMit de\'eloi)ed 
1>\ the foundation of a litei'ar\ S(»ciet\' (."oust itutcnl of 
the members of all classes, (dionia, tlu' oldcM^ of the 
two scHMct ies, orii^inated in this icU'a and was established 
to realize it. vS(>eminj^l\ oiu- i^( the causes which UhI 
to the foundiiii^ of thesociet\' as a broad collei^iatcM)ne 
was the fact that there aliwuh' existed a class literary 
si)ciet\' known as llu- Amphiloi^ian. This, the earliest. 
litei'ar\' association, was formi>d \)\ the memlKM"s of 
Classes A and l>, aftiM-wards const ilut inj; the Cdass of 
'5 .^. Its memb(.M'sliip was limitcil strit-tb' lo that class 
and it ceased to exist, so far as the C'oUej^e was (."on- 




bo 

a 

1 






w 



>^ 



The Literary Societies of the College 421 

cerned, upon its graduation, although the organization 
was continued by members of that class for some 
years thereafter. 

The genuine college life began with the founding of 
Clionia by students of the Classes E and F, September 
25, 1 85 1. The founders were Joseph Allen, Simeon 
Baldwin, Jr., Cleveland J. Campbell, Irving S. Campbell, 
James W. Mason, Russell Raymond, and Charles C 
White. The name adopted was the Free Academy 
Union. Its first debate, at which ten members were 
present, was held October 17, 1851, upon the question 
"Whether the assistance afforded to the Cubans by 
the Americans in the late disturbance was justifiable, " 
then a burning question, growing out of the aid given 
by some altruistic Americans in a recent attempt at 
revolution in Cuba. The question was decided in the 
negative. The debate was held in a room hired espe- 
cially for the occasion. The other exercises consisted of 
a declamation by Simeon Baldwin, Jr., entitled "A 
Parody on Lord Ullin's Daughter" and an essay by 
James W. Mason on ''The Orators and Statesmen of 
Greece. ' ' This was evidently a great occasion, but the 
luxury of a hired room could not be ordinarily indulged 
in, and for some time thereafter the meetings were 
held at the houses of the members. The class feeling, 
however, was so strong that the members of the higher 
classes would not join a society originated by members 
of the lower classes, although every effort was made 
to induce them so to do, and the organization of the 



4-2 The Literary Soeieties ot the College 

Sooiotx' was aiinouiKwl to bo a lcinpi)rar\' duo, subject 
to ohani;o at iho will o[ iho inouuini; nuMnlKM\s ivoiu 
higher classes. The Soeiel\' boeaine one of all classes 
c>nl\' b\- the process ot" the ail\anceineiil ot" its inetnbers 
towards grailualiori. No sliulcnl i^radualini^ before 
'55 was a member o( it. bi some wa\" shorth" after its 
ori^anizatioii. permission was obtained lo hold nieet- 
iniL^s in vSchool No. 20, afterwards N\i. ^:;5. the t"amous 
'Phirtccnth Street School. (^{ which l")r. ilunter was t"or 
so loni.; the l^"inci]nil. ( Md-t"ashioneil candles furnislied 
the artificial liv^hl at these mcetinj^s. which were lield in 
the cNcnini;' the davs oi kerosene havinj^ not yet e(.)me. 
The permission to use ihc schoolroom was before lonj^ 
revoked upon the chari^e that the wear and tear on the 
room was undub i^reat.and thereafter, tor a while, the 
SocictN' met at the houses oi the members, until per- 
mission was later i;i\-en lo meet in the Academy 
buildiuL:. b\- which time ihe Socictx' had i^rown in 
numbers and inlUience and \"alue. About this lime the 
name was chanj^cd lo "Alpha Pclta" i, ' J) and " Cer- 
lanuis Amicilia" was adopted as the motto. These 
(bvck lelters stood l"or .hV^a,/;,./ (V/iiAfiT/'io/ "Broth- 
ers skilled in debate.'" but this meaninj;' was a deep 
secret carefulU j^uarded b\- ihc members. 

The success of tditMiia exidcnlly led to the t"ounding' 
o\ I'hrenocosmia in ihc laic fall of 1S5J. lis name was 
then spelled Phrenacosmia and its tnvek Idlers were 
" Plii Kappa"' I'/'/v.V ll, too. was founded by a 
small number o[ lower class men. anions; whom was 




X' > 
fin -d 



-" JJ 






^ 



The Literary Societies of the College 425 

Dr. Joseph Anderson, '54, who was also one of its early 
presidents. The records of Phrenocosmia, which are 
extremely fragmentary, begin in 1854. About this 
time the friction began between the Board of Education 
and the two societies, growing out of the attempt to 
regulate and control them, and the adoption and the 
promulgation of the rules that they must meet in the 
daytime, must choose members by a majority vote, 
could initiate no member of the Introductory class, and 
could have no library. Both of the societies then left 
the college building and found quarters in Clinton 
Hall. Clionia occupied rooms in Clinton Hall from 
'S3 to '57. During this j^eriod the name was changed 
to Clionia, and the Latin motto was dropped and a 
Greek one adopted otdeXcpixc^s SiaXovjaev — "We fight 
as brothers" — which is said to have been the sugges- 
tion of Prof. Barton. After some years both societies 
came back for awhile to the college building, and later 
Clionia met in rooms constituting the Armory of 
Battery A of the National Guards on West 33d Street. 
These quarters were expensive, but the members had 
no difficulty in raising the needed funds. In more 
recent years both societies have held their meetings 
in the college building. 

Clionia early began the collection of a library, 
which came to number several thousand volumes, 
consisting mostly of fiction, installed in one of the small 
rooms surrounding the chapel. In 187 1 it was cata- 
logued, and the extravagance of printing this catalogue 



426 The Literary Societies of the College 

was indulged in by the Society. The library still 
remains but its usefulness seems to have disappeared. 

Phrenocosmia in 1854 had about ten members, 
eight of whom held official positions, and of the two 
not blessed with office, one immediately resigned, leav- 
ing a sole non-official member. There are signs in the 
fragmentary record of other dissensions. One member 
who resigned carried off a book which he had been 
authorized to buy for the purpose of recording the 
minutes. This may explain in part the breaks in the 
record. Graduates continued their membership, but 
after '55 they were not permitted to hold office, and 
thereafter gradually ceased to attend. The first 
recorded oration had for its subject Pollock's "Course of 
Time." The first recorded debate was upon the 
proposition "Political themes are fit subjects of dis- 
course for the Pulpit." 

In the records under date of February, '5 5 , it appears 
that the Society requested the Board of Education to 
alter the offensive rules, already referred to. The 
resolution among other things, recites that the Society 
should be "reinstated into all their former privilages 
[sic] in the Academy, without infringing on the 
independance [sic] or honor of either party." This 
dignified proposition produced seemingly no effect on 
the Board of Education, but apparently did increase 
the enthusiasm of the members, for they continued, ac- 
cording to the record, to hold meetings up to July i6th 
of that year. On December 17, 1855, they held a 



The Literary Societies of the College 427 

private "Anniversary Meeting" at "Gramercy Lodge 
Room" and the "Hon. Horace Webster" made a few 
remarks. A public anniversary was arranged for the 
following spring. At this public meeting it appears that 
the " Marshal" disgraced the membership by appearing 
in an intoxicated condition. This was the occasion 
of much debate and many resolutions, and resulted in a 
demand for formal apology which was delivered in 
writing, and finally accepted on motion, to which an 
amendment was offered, but lost, that the Marshal 
be further instructed to "refrain from boasting" of his 
offence. It was in connection with this same celebra- 
tion that it was resolved by the Society to "request 
the several speakers not to expatiate longer than ten 
minutes. " 

The second public anniversary was held in 1 85 6, after 
which it was voted to discontinue the custom because 
of the expense, and the subsequent recognitions of the 
date were private affairs. In 1857, the "obnoxious 
by-laws" which kept the societies out of the college 
building were repealed. In October '57 members of 
the Introductory Class were barred from membership 
thereafter. The records of this year contain an account 
of a stranger who entered the meeting, apparently as a 
visitor, and interrupted the proceedings until he was 
invited to make a speech. He then started "a flow of 
•derogatory remarks," which led to the conclusion that 
he was not sober, and he was conducted with "due 
solemnity outside. " During this year there was waged 



428 The Literary Societies of the College 

also a mighty war of words, because a member felt that 
he was instilted by some remarks addressed to him by 
the President. This charge resulted in many resolu- 
tions and much argument, and a private meeting was 
held at a member's house for the discussion and decision 
of the matter, which resulted in the exoneration of the 
President. After 1858, the minutes entirely disap- 
pear until 1 871; thus the entire record during the 
war is lost. 

As early as November, '55, members of the two 
Societies were invited to attend each other's meetings, 
and such friendly relations continued until '57, when 
Clionia proposed the holding of joint debates. Phreno- 
cosmia agreed to this, but first demanded an apology 
for some supposed insult to her by some overzealous 
Clionian, when on the floor of his Society he discussed 
the proposed project of joint debates. As Clionia 
professed ignorance of any insult, while Phrenocosmia 
insisted on an apology, and the apology was not made, 
Phrenocosmia withdrew from all intercourse with her 
rival for a considerable length of time. Subsequently, 
all friction between the two societies apparently 
vanished. Indeed, we learn from General Tremain, a 
leading Phrenocosmian of that da^^ that matters were 
entirely harmonious after 1859, and in that year he 
took part in what he believes to be the first joint 
debate between the two societies. It was held in 
Dr. Doremus' Chemical Lecture Room, and the ques- 
tion was: " If the South should secede, would it be able 




Natural History Hall. 
Looking north, showing cases of specimens mainly the gifts of Professor 
Stratford and Professor Dean. 



429 



The Literary Societies of the College 43 ^ 

to maintain itself as an independent Confederacy?" 
Phrenocosmia held the negative of the question, and 
the vote taken after the close of the debate was over- 
whelmingly on that side. The records after '71 show 
that meetings were held sometimes in Masonic Hall 
and sometimes in the College. The joint debates were 
again re-established. At a debate held January 12, 
1872, in the Chemical Lecture Room, there were about 
seventy present. Professor Compton acted as Judge. 
John Bach McMaster of ' 7 2 won for Phrenocosmia, and 
the prize was a copy of Bryant's Iliad. The honors 
have been very nearly even since the re-establishment 
of the joint debates between the two societies. 

In 1868, James Kelly, Esq., by gift of $1000, es- 
tablished a prize to be awarded to the best debater 
among six elected annually by both literary societies, 
and these annual debates became a great source of 
emulation between the two societies, and, as in their 
joint debates, the honors to the two societies have been 
practically even. In the writer's time, this debate 
was held in Steinway Hall on Fourteenth Street. It 
was a great public function and tested the capacity of 
the large hall to its utmost. The College paid all the 
expenses, including the furnishing of a large orchestra. 
Owing to this great expense, however, these debates 
were held subsequently either at the college building 
or in the Hall of the Board of Education. 

In 1887, Hon. Elliott F. Shepard, then acting as a 
referee at a joint debate, offered a sum of $500 to be 



432 The Literary Societies of the College 

contested for in prizes of $50 each. Clionia won the 
first prize, and thereafter the honors again were 
practically even. 

During the years covered by the writer's term in 
College, both societies were in a flourishing condition 
and on most friendly relations. The writer was a 
Phrenocosmian . 

A great event for both societies at that time was 
their Annual Exhibition, as it was called, which had 
been held for a number of years at the Academy of 
Music. Eight members were elected to deliver original 
orations, and a large orchestra was furnished to dis- 
course music between the speeches. The old Academy 
could hardly contain the crowds that enjoyed these 
occasions. Expenses were paid by subscriptions by 
the students who could afford to pay and by money 
raised on the sale of the boxes. The expenses were 
between $500 and $600 on each occasion, but there was 
never any difficulty in raising the amount needed. In 
1872, these functions w^ere discontinued because there 
were so many members of limited means that it was 
felt to be indelicate to have an entertainment to which 
so manv were entirely unable to contribute. 

About this time also took place the first joint 
debate between one of the literary societies of the 
College and one of the literary societies of the Normal 
College. It was between Clionia of the College and 
Alpha of the Normal, and it was voted a very successful 
affair. The Clionian records of the contest have un- 



The Literary Societies of the College 433 

fortunately been lost but those who participated in the 
excitement recall it with vivid satisfaction. 

In 1873, fo^ "the first time in the history of the Kelly 
Prize Debates, Clionia took both prizes, the winners 
being Lewinson and Kohn of '73. 

In 1877, Phrenocosmia held its Twenty-fifth Anni- 
versary in the Academy of Music, an entirely wor- 
thy affair. Lewis S. Burchard, '77, presided; General 
Tremain, '60, delivered the Graduates' address; and, 
Dr. Joseph Anderson, '54, read a poem on Professor 
Barton. 

In gathering the data for this sketch, the following 
letter has been received, which is of so much interest 
that it has been decided to print it in full: 

73 Avenue Kleber, Paris, 

Feb. i6th, 1907. 
Prof. Charles F. Horne, 
Dear Sir: 

My mail from America brings me, this morning, your letter 
of January 29th. 

Right glad am I to hear of your proposed Memorial Volume 
concerning the College of the City of New York — my Alma Mater. 
But I am sorry to reward your Phi Kappa inquiries with 
only a meagre and nebulous response. 

It is true that in 1852 (or perhaps a year later) I co-operated 
with some of my fellow-collegians of Class C in founding the 
Phrenocosmian Literary Society, and in editing (with their 
help) its organ or gazette: — which was a wee bit of a news- 
paper — not printed, but handed about in manuscript, — issued 
not regularly but at odd times, the total edition always con- 
sisting of one copy only, — and which, in passing from borrower to 



434 The Literary Societies of the College 

borrower, was sometimes lost, or more usually worn out and 
finally reduced to its primitive rags! 

In fact, the Phrenocosmian "early records" (as you call 
them) did not include any formal and permanent Book of Min- 
utes, or journal of proceedings, but were simply a few hap- 
hazard contributions such as might chance to be flung together 
to make up the tardy next number of a semi-occasional fly-sheet. 

I think I am right in saying that nothing like a "file" of this 
spasmodic publication existed either under my regime, or during 
my college-term. 

Nevertheless, any student who wanted to wreak himself on 
expression, and to commit a burst of eloquence, was allowed 
a generous latitude. 

It was a free press! 

My small corps of the more regular and sedate contributors, 
such as never on any occasion had fireworks to let ofif, were 
Joseph R. Anderson, Edmund Belfour, Franklin S. Rising, and 
E. Tanjore Corwin: — so that strictly speaking the whole editorial 
stafY, except only the editor-in-chief, consisted of clergymen 
in embryo! 

But I never found that these sober-minded gentlemen ob- 
jected to innocent fun. So our little sheet bristled with a crispy 
secularity — a breezy worldliness especially adapted to "well 
ordered minds" and hence its contents were specifically and 
etymologically "Phrenocosmian." It irradiated Murray Hill 
and Lexington Avenue with Baconian Wisdom in the form of 
college-jokes and with vivacious comments on passing events, 
all set forth with an adolescent freshness of style far more spark- 
ling than much of the weary waggery which I now read daily 
in the Figaro in its " Xouvelles a la Maiji/' 

Let me tell you an anecdote of those golden days of Phi Kappa. 

One of the non-clerical luminaries of Class C (a splendid 
comrade whom we never saluted hv his name but alwavs b\' his 




J eu 



^ c 



The Literary Societies of the College 437 

initials) said to me one day, "Our college newspaper would be 
much better if it were not so good," and his remedial suggestion 
was "Less comed}'' and more science!" 

Whereupon I challenged him to contribute to our very next 
number a brief resume of his most solemn views on the Descent 
of Man. 

His lucubration (as nearly as I can recall its phraseology) 
was as follows: 

The Problem of the Origin of Species. 

Question: Why was Eve created? 
Answer: For Adam's Express Company. 

This bon mot, on its first appearance in our Phrenocosmian 
sheet, was signed G. F. S. 

It was at once stolen by the whole American press — no 
credit being given either to the author, or to Phi Kappa. 

So I take the liberty of mentioning that the G. F. S. of half 
a century ago is to-day the celebrated physician and surgeon 
Dr. George F. Shrady of New York. 

I close my letter, my dear Mr. Home, by adding that my long- 
ago editorship of the Phrenocosmian journal was terminated by 
the graduation of my college class in 1855. 

Good luck to your Memorial Volume! 

Cordially yours, 

Theodore Tilton. 

The societies have not been without their troubles 
during succeeding years. The Kelly Debates were not 
held for a number of years, the fund for some reason 
not having been productive, but they have now been 
resumed ; the most recent joint debate, held in Decem- 
ber, 1906, was won by Clionia, and singularly this victory 



438 The Literary Societies of the College 

made the record of joint debates between the two 
societies once more exactly ahke. 

A number of literary societies have, from time to 
time, originated in some one or other of the sub- 
Freshman classes in recent years; most of them have had 
a short life, but one, the Adelphian, has not only main- 
tained itself for three years in those classes, but now 
has members who are of the Collegiate classes. 

The establishment of the ' ' Department of Oratory ' ' 
under Professor Palmer has brought debating practi- 
cally into the curriculum of the College and the interest 
in that subject has greatly increased, especially since 
the success of the College in its two debates with 
Hamilton. Nevertheless, the two leading societies 
have maintained their traditional independence. Stand- 
ing thus as peculiarly and emphatically student 
organizations, they have grown in strength and in 
numbers and are in a condition satisfactory both to 
the College and to the members. 



College Journalism 



439 



College Journalism 

Julius M. Mayer, '84 
And The Editors 

npITE idea of "college journalism," that is of 
magazines chnmicling student life and jmb- 
lished by the students themselves, is essentially 
American. Only very recently has it taken nxjt 
in Europe at all, while in America it dates back to the 
beginning of the last century. The Literary Cabinet 
was started by Yale students in 1806. It was stu- 
pendously heavy of thought and slow of movement; 
and it did not last. Yet it was a beginning; and the 
idea soon spread to other colleges. Tt is to be noted, 
however, that Yale was founded in 1701, hence it took 
her over a century to evolve a college paper. Our 
own Free Academy reached a similar stage of develop- 
ment in nine years. To be sure we began existence 
in a faster moving age. Moreover our environment 
and associations with our great metropolis led us 
naturally into journalistic lines. So that perhaps 
we should rather seek excuse that our magazines did 

not spring even earlier into existence — as early as our 

441 



442 College Journalism 

literary societies. Such excuse is to be found in the 
expenses involved in printer's ink. The desire, the 
aml)iti()n for print, existed in our very earliest classes. 
We ha\'e record of the Phrenocosmian, a journal la- 
borious y written out by hand, far back in '52, and 
circulated from student to student until it perished, 
as more pretentious \'olumes seldom perish, from actual 
use. 

In 1858 appeared our first printed paper, the 
Microcosm. It could scarce be called a journal, for it 
was intended onh' to be ^^•hat it still continues to-day, 
an annual record. Toward hterary effort, it made no 
pretence whatever; nor was it in a financial sense a 
"venture." It was i)re])ared by the fraternity chap- 
ters of Chi Psi and Al])ha Delta Phi; and the projectors 
first went about the Collei^^e and secured subscriptions 
in advance, sufficient to defray expenses. The)' then 
proceeded to "cut their coat according to their cloth" 
and issued only a four-page sheet, 12x16 inches, giving 
the names of the faculty, members of the classes, so- 
cieties and simikir rather deadening details. 

The Microcosm had in i860 a rival simikir to itself, 
the Cosmo j^oliian, which s])rang into existence under 
s])ur of the healthy rivah-y roused among students who 
felt themselves too little noticed in the other publica- 
tion. The Cosmopolitan lasted through three years. 

Encouraged b}' the success of both these annuals a 
real journal was attempted, the Free Academy Monthly. 
In this enteii^rise the students were encouraged and 




w 



K 



^ 



College Journalism 445 

advised by Professor Anthon and several others of 
the teach inj^ force; and the first and alas! only number 
of the Monthly ever published was a really admirable 
production. It appeared in the winter of 1860-61; 
then came the tumult of the Civil War, and the Monthly 
was forgotten. 

During the war the Microcosm continued as the 
sole printed representative of the students, '^fhen in 
1866 came the change of name of our institution to the 
City College, and with the change, as though inspired 
by it, appeared that ambitious magazine, the (Collegian. 
The first number oi this was issuerl November 21, 
1866; it was published by the class of '68 under 
the editorshijj of Richard R. Bowker, then a member 
of the class. The jjaper was planned as a bi-weekly; 
it published news of student doings in brief; but was 
devoted mainly to literary j purposes and included in its 
pages some poems which have since wfjn considerable 
repute. Really admirable as the jjajjcr was, it failed 
of financial success. Of advertisements it had prac- 
tically none, and while the students liked the articles 
and approved their general tone, yet the price per copy, 
twelve and then fifteen cents, was higher than most 
student purses could afford. So the Collegian died 
after issuing eight numbers. 

Warned by this serious and decided failure our 
embryo journalists kcjjt out of j^rint for several years, 
if we excejjt a single number of a jjaj^er ] published in 
1870, and called the Introductory because issued by 



44^^ CoUci^c Jcnirnalism 

nuMiibors (M' tlio InlroiliiotiM'N' *.-l;iss. Thon in iSy.j ihoiv 
(.Muio a sinKloii stai'llinj^ (Uillnirsi of ilio imirnalislio 
tenor. I'apors sjMMiii^ ii]^ ihroiij^lunit llio C\illoi;o like 
nuishrooins aiul soiiio of tluMii lo tlio i.:oiuiino aslonish- 
nuMit of 1 lioir ]HM-pctralors pro\oil tinanoialh- successful, 
l-'irst to appear il-'ebruarN-. 1S7.P was tlie (liofiian 
.l/i/_i^(/:./;;<". issue^l as a nioinlil\- under the editorship of 
Mr. v^anuiels. ';.}. It was se\erel\- hlerarw deeph" 
iinprei^nated with student wisJoni, and was not anionj;' 
the peeuniarx \ietories. It was diseonlinued aftei' three- 
issues. 

In that saiue spriui^" appeared the (\'illcgc Budget, 
whieh enioNs the distinction of be in i; tlie tirst C C X. Y. 
niai.:a;:ine that fMi'J. Let us wiili all humilit\- cmifess. 
that nobod\ e\er accused the HiiJgci o( the journalistic 
crime oi beinj; 'ditcrarw "' lis lirst issue was pub- 
lished as a joke b\ 11. T. Kahrs. "75. Indeed if we nia\' 
bclicNc the />;/i/_i^<7'.s' own assiu\nice Mr. Kahrs. or 11. C 
v'-^hark. as he placarded his name in thin disi^uise. not 
onl\- edited and publislunl but also printed the sheet 
himself. It was certainh- printed execrabl\-. full of 
errors, on a ; \ 5 sheet o\ cheapest pajvr. Hut it was 
crowded with t'un aiul imjHideucc and the rather vajnd 
personalities which please the lad who thus for the 
first tin\e sees his own name in jniblic type. So it 
"look." Kahrs was joined by some of his classmates. 
lleiu-\- Jenkins, now principal *.4" the lari^est public 
school in our citw and others; and amous.:' them they 
kept the l^i(Jgct alive until the spring of '75. The\" in- 



College Journalism 447 

creased its size too and improved on its respectability, 
without losing its ingenuity of wit and sarcasm. Jen- 
kins, "our paid poet " as the editorial page denominated 
him, had a ready power of rhyme which has not deserted 
him, and his squibs would have made good reading 
in far more pretentious columns. 

The Budget's success soon brought it rivals of 
similar type. This class of '75 was certainly a remark- 
able one in its thirst for print. Its first effort had been 
the Introductory, then came the Budget. Then another 
faction of the class published an opposition piece of 
impudence called the Firefly, and edited by Wilbur 
Larremore, since editor of more ambitious works. 
The Freshman class, '77, started the Mosquito. Next 
year the incoming Freshm.en of '78 issued the Flea; 
and '79, still an Introductory class, produced the 
Meteor. The names of these sheets form sufficient 
indication of their spirit and style. 

Perhaps the editors themselves were a little ashamed 
that in the rapidly developing world of college journal- 
ism our College was no better represented for we find 
that all of these buzzing little insects lent generous 
aid to an attempt to re-establivsh the defunct Collegian, 
This effort and the use of the old, revered name were 
sanctioned by Mr. Bowker, editor of the former Col- 
legian. The new paper, founded on the lines of the 
old, appeared in January, 1875, under the managing 
editorship of G. N. Messiter of '75. Both Larremore 
and Jenkins were on the editorial staff; so was J. V. V. 



448 College Journalism 

Olcott of '76, now Congressman Olcott, Hanford 
Crawford, '75, Nelson S. Spencer, '75, in short all the 
literary talent of the Colle.q:e. 

Even these men, however, could not make a purely 
literary- ]^a]:)er pay by its sale among undergraduates. 
Four numbers of the Collegian were published in the 
spring of 1875. But when the class of '75 was gradu- 
ated, '76 made no effort to continue the profitless 
undertaking. 

Yet the determination to have some sort of paj^er, 
to serve as a more dignified representative of the 
College than the slangy little insect buzzers, was 
steadily gaining strength. As '76 did not take up the 
work, two men of the following classes attempted it. 
They were L. S. Burchard of '77, and F. S. Williams 
of '78. Between them they planned the Echo, a 
journal which should by being part literary, ])art newsy, 
combine the glor)' of one style with the profit of the 
other. The}' secured the approval and support of the 
f(M-mer editors of the Collegian and so were able to 
advertise their jxiper as the legitimate successor of 
that dignified failure. Then they fonned an "Echo 
Association" in which several members of the Senior 
class, '77, and also of the Juniors and Sophomores 
joined to aid them. In December, 1876, the Echo 
began its career. 

In seeking to gather the forgotten data for this 
sketch I obtained from one of the Echo's earl}' editors 
an acc(nmt so characteristic that I make no effort to 




Q 



ffi 



w X 



College Journalism 451 

change, but quote it entire. No reader of our college 
literature will fail to recognize the genial pen of 
Burchard, '77, the first president of the Echo Asso- 
ciation. 



When '77 entered its Senior year, steps were taken 
to launch a new college paper. An association of 
members of the three upper classes was formed and 
the College Echo was launched. I was in the literary 
subdivision of the board of editors, Sigismund Pol- 
litzer, '79, hounded us for copy, and Frank S. Williams, 
'78, was business or managing editor. The Echo was 
criticised by one of its contemporaries for "spreading 
its new-fledged wings too ambitiously, " but attained 
a small sort of distinction. Perrin, '79, composed the 
dedicatory verses beginning 

" 'Tis related that Echo, a lovely young Oread, 
Sat beside Juno and chatted so long, 
That old Jove slipped away and clandestinely sported 
With all the fair nymphs in that heavenly throng;" 

and Emil Andrew Huber, '77, began a series of poetical 
contributions which for sheer, simple, inexplicable 
genius — a Poe-like melody and unearthly weirdness or 
eerieness, a Keatsian splendor of landscape — had 
never been equalled in the history of the College. 

During the first two or three months of the Echo's 
career, there occurred the funniest little journalistic 
scrap the College ever saw. 



452 College Journalism 

Just before the tirst number of the Echo came out, 
and while we " editors" were all somewhat aghast at 
the amount of writing- it took to till the maw of the 
unprcsenlable monster that "took so long a-boming, " 
the class of '80, then in the Freshman )-ear, brought 
out a coniical little mishap of a ]xiper called the Star 
of \So. Its lirst number was written almost entirely 
by a lovable, blundering, energetic, harumscanmi 
Freshman named Oscar B. Weber, who afterward 
became rich and famous as a builder of really 
beautiful chimncxs of so-called "radial" brick for gas 
works and factories, and who tlied only recently. The 
paper was printed in some German ]n'inting otTrtce over 
in a small jersev town anil was full oi amusing typo- 
graphical errors. For instance, the opening "poem" — 
we all had to start life with "]>oems" in those days — 
began b\' comparing itself to "a bird" that "first 
assavs its niaiden liight" and, after cavorting around, 
sometimes withcnit bothering to rhyme its quatrains 
and sometimes without waiting for a fourth line, 
soared to its noblest height b>- chanting: 

" O'er the far-cxtoiulcd earth. 
Clouds will hide, thy lii;ht appearing, 
Truth will wear [>'/V] its noble head. 
Drown the Nu>iees of the snearing." 

The B!tdi::ct had been Bohemian having a bit of 
literar\- tlavor in its fooling, the Mosquito, neat and tiny, 
the h\\^th'c Flea, tlippant and ribald, the .Uc/tvr solemn 



College Journalism 453 

and priggishly literary, but this Star had nothing but a 
heavy German-American clumsiness. Here was grist 
for the despairing Echo millers. And so I wrote a re- 
view and pounded the poor little Star. 

Then came my punishment. To fill up that awful 
first Echo I had taken a Sophomore composition on 
"The Dream of Eugene Aram" (subject assigned) and 
a "Junior Oration" on Thomas Hood and tacked the 
two together into an "article" on Thomas Hood. It 
was turgid, wordy, Sophomoric (pardon, '09!), and 
deserved all that "came to it." But imagine the 
astonishment of the Seniors in general and poor me in 
particular when, within a few weeks of the publication 
of the Echo, out pops a "No. 2 " of the Star of '80, 
correctly edited and printed, and containing two of 
the wittiest and most scathing roasts of the Echo in 
general and Thomas Hood in particular that could be 
imagined. Slashing, dashing criticisms of the first 
order, worthy of Charles A. Dana in his raciest moods, 
they left neither hide nor hair of poor Hood's eulogist. 
Evidently, they were the work of mature minds, of 
writers who had read far more than any undergraduate 
we had ever seen. It seemed to me like an aggravated 
case of calling in a big brother. They estimated my 
flights as of the style of "a pale, interesting young 
clergyman, the recipient of many slippers," and com- 
pared them to "the emotional effusions of Theodore 
Tilton in the days when Tilton wrote with purity of 
feeling" (this was just after the Beecher-Tilton trial). 



454 College Journalism 

They were reminded "of a virgin with 3^eamings, " 
quoted Artemus Ward — ' ' Let her gnsh ! I roared, as loud 
as I could holler," and accused me of "silly half- 
plagiarism" because I called the air "multitudinous." 
Aldrich's Tom Bailey used the text-book description 
of the earthquake of Lisbon to express his sensations 
during his first "blight." I felt reminded of the lines 
in Horatius — 

"All shrank, — like boys who, unaware, 
Ranging a wood to start a hare. 
Come to the mouth of the dark lair 
"Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
Lies amidst bones and blood. " 

In the second number they roasted a second Sopho- 
more composition of mine refurbished into another Echo 
"article," and turned the kreese in my wound by 
displaying the masterh' critical taste to recognize and 
praise most heartily, and with really scholarly and 
poetic appreciation. Ruber's first remarkable verses in 
the measure of Tears, idle Tears, beginning — 

Sea, open sea; it heaves and sinks amain 

In long, low swell of heavy-lifted waves, 

Hollows and hills, and caves of moving sea, 

Near plash and distant boom; and, on the verge, 

Still, stealthy lines that creep against the sky — 

And all is glossy in the cold, white moon; 

The corpse is silent with its ghost, the moon. 

The Star reviewer, recalling the many phrases 
descriptive of the sea, "from the much collegian- 




cr 
■ \i 



•7 Q 



K 



College Journalism 457 

mimicked ' multitudinous seas ' of the greatest immortal 
to the 'sea of unshovelled graves' of Walt Whitman," 
found the poem a "surprise," the first five lines "as- 
tounding," "true, unmistakable poetry," and "a 
student of our upper classes (which before we did not 
know to be great in the brilliancy of their members) 
saying something . . . fresh and free and as good and 
life-like as it is new"; and, whether rapping one of us 
over the knuckles or patting the other of us on the 
head, conveyed the tremendous impression of a veteran 
litterateur, say, like our own Anthon, in some incom- 
prehensible manner amusing himself contributing to 
an aforetime absurd Freshman paper, making Riggs's 
Essay men and Seniors stand around like schoolboys 
and treating eloquence carefully modelled on Shaw's 
Literature as " gaspirations. " 

To help "fill up" that ravenous maw of the EchOy 
when we came to print the second number I could n't 
resist the temptation of inserting what I thought the 
gem of all the Riggs Essays as preserved in a book in 
President Webb's office — one written by Edward Morse 
Shepard, '69, when a Junior, on the assigned subject 
of "The Gentleman." On this, in the third number of 
the now redoubtable Star, the unknown critics fell- 
Probably crediting this to the unfortunate Hood man, 
— and greatly flattering him thereby — they proceeded 
to "skin him again." "This time," they found it 
"not ludicrous but only dreary and impossible to 
review because no one would think of reading it,'* 



458 College Journalism 

because the Hood man had the "air still pulsing with 
rich vibrations" ; they managed to "dip into the vague 
ocean," of Shepard's essay "at points, and of course 
pick up, first thing, a stock Echo-essay pearl, — 'aerial 
pulsations.' " They called his gentleman "the real 
old Sunday-school-book bore" and recommended him 
to the reading of "a wicked man called Thackeray," 
all of which, we heard, was highly amusing to Shepard, 
now chairman of the Board of Trustees of the College, 
and nuts and ale to me. If the great and brilliant 
Shepard of '69, already an heroic figure in our tradition, 
was to catch it, I could grin in my pillory. 

Who were these astounding Freshmen? — if they 
were Freshmen, which seemed incredible, impossible. 

We soon came to know them and found them to be 
Henry G. S. Noble, now one of the Governing Com- 
mittee of the New York Stock Exchange and one of 
the committee that built the new Exchange, and 
Francis Dane Bailey, himself a poet, philosopher, and 
critic. With R. Floyd Clarke, later first prize man 
at Columbia Law School and author of the Science 
of Law and Lawmaking, and Harr)- W. Mack, they 
caiTied on the Star interniittently till graduation, when 
the Star published a Class-Day Book in pamphlet 
fonxL in which Noble produced a History of the Class 
of '80 with illustrations by the author, which, with the 
January and February. '77, numbers of the Star, re- 
mains to this day the wittiest and f tinniest piece of un- 
dergraduate writing that the College has ever seen. To 



College Journalism 459 

this Class-Day Book Bailey contributed a series of 
sketches in the style of Edward Lear's immortal 
Nonsense Book, the Pictorial History of the Class of 
'80, illustrating '8o's intellectual development. 

Thus the Star swam out of our ken, while the Echo 
kept on a-coming out. Bailey wrote for it a scream- 
ing review of Shaw's English Literature and Freeman's 
History; Professor Werner gave us a wise and fastidi- 
ously worded essay, "On Scintillation"; Huber, Bailey, 
Theodore Ives, Perrin, and Merington, all of '79, wrote 
verses; Professor Roemer gave us a menu in Latin; 
Larremore, '75, two charming essays, "A Brief Homily," 
and "The Dilettante"; Spencer, '75, "A Dogma in 
Criticism "; Marcus Stine, '76, two letters from Leipzig, 
one describing a student duel; and other graduates 
contributed and we kept up quite a gait. We of the 
Echo were, if I am not mistaken, the first to recognize 
the decorative possibilities of the College seal and make 
it part of the "make-up" of our title, as the Mercury 
does to this day. 

For this, one of the exchanges said we sported the 
"spiciest motto" of all the College papers. 

L. S. B. 



The Echo maintained itself vigorously through 
1877 and 1878, a credit to the College, as highly hon- 
ored in other institutions as in our own. But in 1879 
it faded and disappeared, the Echo Association having 
failed to recruit sufficient new members from the lower 



4t>o College JDurn.ilism 

classes. 'Vhc \\[{\c Shir of 'So nn-ived iov a nioiuont 
to dance ui Inuiupli o\cr the renianis of its (U'timet 
antagonist. The (\>nei;ewas thtis again left with no 
rcpreseiitati\'e piiiit <>\eept the Microcosm, whieh in 
1S7S was enlar*;eil fi'oin its niereK' perfmietory list of 
names to a paniphU't somewhat reseniMini; its more 
reeent issues. It eontaininl elass histories and a 
chronologN' ( )f ec )llege e\'en t s. Moreover its editors \\'ere 
aVile to "iH)int with jM'idt^" to its havin<;- a ent for a 
fi'ont ispieee. StilT eo\ers, i^ixinj; the aiuuial a i"i_L;ht 
to l)e i-alKnl a "iniok," eanie later, with 'Sy 1 tliinU d^' 
iUc lirst tiini\ And then linalK in '89 came the lu>av\' 
l)Oard eo\'ers and the two lurndi\Hl pages or more of 
contents whieh ga\e tlu> Microcosm a place in the lirst 
rank of (.elaborate eolliH.i^ puMiealions. 

McanwhiU^ in March, iSSo, there appeared two 
claimants for the post left xacant h\' the l^cJio. These 
were Fboraciann, issned Iw the Sopluunores of '82 
uniler the editorship oi l''\cM-it r>rown, and the College 
Mercury, issued h\' the JMeshnien of '8:;. Ehoraciana 
lasted onl\' half a \ear. The Mercury is still in ex- 
istence after twent\ se\en years. Let Mr. Mosenthal. 
one of its foniuUM's, tell its st(M-\ , as he told it twenty 
years ago in his far«.>well nntnhcM- ot tlu> paper. 



When the Echo, in DecemluM", 1878. tinally passed 
init o{ existence, matters looked very gloomy for our 
college journalism. No upv>er-class man was willing, 
with the failure of such brilliant prospects as the I'lcho 




Q 



College Journalism 463 

had, starinj^^ him in 1,1 ic fact;, to risk the estabhshment 
of .'I, iic;w ]).'i,p(:i-. Ill conse(|uc;iice, from this time till 
March, iXXo, our C'oUege had no representative, it 
was left to l(jwer-class men, who knew lil-tk; of the 
Echo, exeept that their subscriptions Imd never been 
returned them, to pre])are a new venture. 

The idea of found inj^ the College Mercury originated 
with E. J. Newell, '83, and was talked over by him 
with several of his classmates durin^^ their inl rodiictory 
year. It w.'is not, however, till the middle, of the 
Freshman yca.r thnt the ])l,'m wiis carric^d out. in 
DecemV)er, 1879, Mr. Newell .-md Mr. IC. (i, ii<'UT.-i,tt, 
then also of '83, finally agreed on <'i. mode of procedure. 
By subscribing^ the necessary funds themselves they 
became the sole owners of the embryo paper. Before 
anythinj^^ furtluir was done, P. J. Mosenthal, 'H3, w.-is 
taken into confidence, and, purchasing a few of the 
so-called shares, Vjecame one of the; future editors. 
L. V. Mott, '83, was tlie next one chosen, ,'uid he,, with 
Messrs. ("hanning and Bayles, who, howc^ver. never 
h.'id more tlinn nomin.'d c(jnn(iction with tlu; paper, 
comjjleterl the editorial bonrd. '{"he; semi-.'iimu.'d ex- 
amination coming on at this time delayed the appear- 
ance of the first number. However, toward the clr)S(! 
of Febru;iry, 1880, a, notice appeared on the bullel.in 
surjiiountt;d by a, figure of Hermes, cut from an old 
newspa];er, and announcing that a new ]>a.per would 
shortly a])];ear under the management of Vj. G. Barratt,, 



464 College Journalism 

Its coming was awaited with considerable curiosity, 
not unmixed, on the part of the Seniors, with disdain 
at Freshman audacity. For a time prospects were 
not very promising. The examinations had proved 
disastrous to one of the board. Advertisements were 
not easily procured and such "copy" as came in was 
of no great degree of excellence. But matters took a 
more favorable turn. Two or three Seniors, who had 
been connected with the Echo, good-naturedly became 
interested in the enterprise. One of them wrote the 
opening editorial, which arduous task the new editors 
did not dare to undertake. The modesty and good 
sense of this bit of writing did not a little toward cre- 
ating a favorable impression for the paper, at home and 
abroad, when it finally appeared. But the Echo men 
did the Mercury another service, b)^ giving it permission 
to call itself the successor of their paper, and thus 
freeing it at once from the imputation of being the 
representative only of the class from which its editors 
were drawn. 

Finally, in March, 1880, No. i of the College Mercury 
appeared. It was of about the same size as at present, 
contained sixteen pages, and was printed in long primer 
type on good tinted paper. E. G. Barratt's name was 
the only one placed at the head of the editorial page. 
He was called the managing editor, but, though he 
supplied part of the funds for starting the paper, he 
never did any active work on it. E.J. Newell was the 
real manager and editor at this time. The others had 



College Journalism 467 

absolutely no experience in writing even for a limited 
circle, and, as far as we can now remember, only one of 
them supplied any of the matter, beyond a few news 
items. With what fears and tremblings did not the 
editors await the appearance of the first number. We 
well remember driving down town one afternoon to 
take a look at the wonderful sheet, which was almost 
ready for publication. And when we saw it, how weak 
and puerile did the efforts we had spent time and 
trouble on sound to us, as we imagined ourselves in 
the position of a disinterested or even inimical critic. 
Well, it finally appeared, and as an immediate conse- 
quence we, the editors, almost disappeared from the 
scene of our journalistic achievements. There was in 
that first number a certain editorial which in no way 
agreed with some faculty rules passed at the time of 
the Echo's difficulty, for the delectation of college 
journalists. For a time the paper's existence was 
precarious. The second number appeared in April, and 
by trying to explain matters only made them worse. 
The unfortunate editors were suspended, and soon 
afterward the whole affair got into the papers and cre- 
ated a most ludicrous sensation. The New York 
papers embroidered a beautiful legend on the facts 
of the case and their rural contemporaries caught 
it up, and received from their city correspondents 
heart-rending tales of the attempts to infringe the 
liberty of the press. The truth of the matter is that 
none of the editors were suspended longer than a few 



4^8 C olU^i^r loin ii.ilisin 

(l;i\s; th;it ;iU \voi"o takoii \\\ck into j^imoc loiii^ lvt\>ro 
[\\c issue ot iho third miiiilHM' ; .nul that liiuill\- tho 
.\L'>i!t>\\ so t.u" tioin hoiuj^' supjM'ossivl. has o\"or siiu"i' 
iMijoNwl iho ooinpUno tavor and synipvilh)' ot" iho 
».\»lK\i:;o aullioni los. 

rho si\-ond \ohiino oi [\\c \lrt\ui v hoj^.m in C K'IoIhm'. 
iSSo, w u h 1:. 1. Xowoll as manaj^iui^ odttof, and P. j. 
^^'s^MUhal and I.. l'\ Moll as assislains. Tho ivsl ot" 
thr board had In ihis liino lot I ooUoi^o. PIio small 
nntnbor ot odiiois norossiialod tho ti\\|Uoin prinlinj^ 
ot oonl lalnitod inaltor. thus >_;i\inv; an a_i^i\H\d^U' \ariot\'. 
\'ol. 11. No. .', saw tho snoooss ot' tho papoi" assurod. 
llithorto it had boon a inoinhU. bnt now. oontoianiiiL^" 
(o tho i^onoral onstom. it Inwnno a t'oftnii^htU . whioh 
n has sinoo roinainod. With o\ or\ snoo^wlini:^ lunnbor 
it foso \\\ ta\of anionv; tho roadoi's it o.itiMwl to. auvi 
ooniplotovl tho sooond \oar ot' its oxistonoo with .i iar^o 
oonnnonooniont lunnbor, oontaininj; pia.-o lists and 
skololios ol' tho nionibors ol" tho _v;i"adnaluii; olass. 

Tho third \olnino was boi^nn nndor a ditTorcMit 
manai^omonl and jM-ojM'iotorship. Mr. XowoU haxin,^' 
lot't oolU\uo, .m assooialion oonsistini^ ot Mossrs. 11. \\. 
JM-own and W. 11. Raohan. "S.\ pnrohasod tVom him 
tho jM'oportN and i;ood will of tho papoi". Mi". Xowoll 
had tomivlod it aiul had b\ judioions manaj^omonl made 
it a oomploto snoooss, and ho partovl tVom his I'ormoi" 
assooiatos with tho bost ot" tVoliiu^s. V. ]. Mosonlhal 
booamo manai^iiiv^ oditor and 1.. V. Mott tii"st assistant. 
In ordor to usjsurc C C. M. \'. of a ponnanont paper. 



College Journalism 4^^9 

the new Mercury Association resolved, on the j_^r.'ulii- 
ation of its then members, to make a free gift of the 
j>a]jer to the succeeding editorial board, who were to 
])ass it on in a similar way to the next. Under a still 
1,'i.tcr org.'ini/ation thi:; ];l'm w,'ts retained, but ;i,liniini 
members were ^(ivcri a voir:e in the fniper's .-iffairs. 
Thus, while always in the hands of the students of the 
College, the Mercury has in its alumni, anxious for its 
welfare, a means of support in f^nsc of need. 

The third volume was thoroughly prosperous. 
The college .-uifJiorities shr^wed it their ajjproval in a 
number oi ways, amr^rig others by giving it a perma- 
nent office, and by frecjuent contributions. In Vol, 
IV. Messrs. \i. F. 'J'odrl ;,ik] j. M. iMjiycr, '84, tr^ok the 
places ()\ the '82 members who had graduated. The 
success of the ])a]>er was in every way kej^t u];. 



This jjl'tn of p.'issing the Mercury irom class to class 
1),'!,:; indeed pn;;;(;rv(;d it. Jt has even become a sort 
of "school of journ.'dism" within the College, not 
unworthy of th(; institution which it represents, and 
sending out year after year men trained in the practical 
business of journal-making. Many a former editor, 
rising at the quinrjuennial dinners held by the Mercury 
grafluates, has declared his Mercury labors the most 
valuable of all his college work. 

Secure in its strength Mercury has watched gener- 
ation ,'i,fter generation of papers rise and pass. vSome 



4/0 College Journalism 

of them it is even possible (an old Mercury man 
can not be expected to admit more than that) have 
temporarily equalled Mercury in wit and scholarship. 
But they have each and all been the work of individ- 
uals, perishing with the single brain. 

Most formidable of these rivals was the College 
Journal, which began in December, '82, before Mercury 
was firmly established. It was published by men 
of the class of '85 and bv them passed on to men of 
'88. For about five years its lively though at times 
indecorous and distinctly "yellow" pages kept the 
Mercury editors busy to "keep ahead." In 1892 
Clionia revived its former magazine, but continued it 
for only two volumes. In 1893 Phrenocosmia also 
started a literary journal equally profound. Bernard 
Naumburg, '94, was the editor of this. It was a 
quarterly and persisted through four volumes befoie 
Phrenocosmian patience, funds, and literary genius 
ran short. Then there were the College Epigram and 
the College Review, severely literary, and Quips and 
Cranks, really bright and newsy, and Cap and Bells. 
With the separation of the introductory classes uptown 
came an era of introductory papers, chief of which 
has been the Academic Herald, which began in Novem- 
ber, 1905, and still survives. 

Of older papers kept alive by alumni help we have 
recently had two. In January, 1904, M. Gaston Laf- 
f argue, instructor in the French department, started 
a French paper, La XXieme Siecle. While relying 



College Journalism 473 

partly on student support and material, this drew 
mainly upon the graduates, and after two volumes 
M. Laffargue abandoned it. 

On December 30, 1904, was issued the first number 
of the City College Quarterly, a magazine devoted to 
the maturer interests of the College and its alumni. 
It was edited by James W. vSheridan, an instructor in 
the English department of the College. Mr. vSheridan 
died suddenly and tragically, and the Quarterly was 
continued by an association formed for that purpose. 
It is now under the editorship of Professor Mott, head 
of the English department and, as this article has 
recounted, one of the founders of the Mercury, the only 
other college paper which has persisted, as the Quarterly 
seems likely to persist. 



The lMa(cnntics 



M'; 



The Fraternities 

Frank Keck, '72 

A N interesting feature of a student's life in an 
American college is his membership in one of 
the Greek letter secret fraternities, and the ex- 
istence of these fraternities at colleges and uni- 
versities located in large cities helps much towards 
the enjoyment of such advantages as come to the 
student attending a similar institution located in a 
small town even where such fraternities do not exist. 

The student attending a college or university in a 
large city lives at home, perhaps at some distance 
from the college buildings, and sees very little of the 
social side of his fellow-student unless he be a member 
of one of these societies. Perhaps he is inclined to fall 
behind in his studies; whereas a fraternity man always 
finds a brother ready with words of advice and en- 
couragement to help him on to better work. 

A very short period had elapsed after the founding 
of the Free Academy when its students felt the need 
of some such organization, and a local society known 
as Sigma Xi was established, renting a house on Fourth 

477 



4/S The Fraternities 

Avenue near i8th Street. Amon^i^ its members were 
Professor Alfred G. l\)mpton, Hon. John M. liardy, 
Brevet Brig.-Gen. Gilbert H. MeKibbin, and James 
H. Steers. It was not a secret society, but purely a 
social club, and it maintained an active existence only 
a short time after the establishment of the first regular 
college fraternity in the Acadcmw Its members 
have met, however, once a year at dinner, and 
at the dinner given this vear at the Hotel Astor no less 
than twent\- were present. 

In the year 1855 several of the students were a]'*- 
pnxichcd h\ William W. CuxKlrich, an An^hcrst gradu- 
ate, since deceased but in his lifetime a judge of the 
Supreme Court of the State of New Wn-k. on the sub- 
ject of the establishment of a chapter of his fraternity, 
the Alj^ha Delta Phi, at the Free Academy. He suc- 
ceeded m enlist ing the itUerests of the following stu- 
dents of the class oi 1855: William 11. Abel, Simeon 
Baldwin, Lewis C. Bayles, Francis A. Mason, James 
W. Mason. llenr\- A. Pc^st, Luis Feniandez. and Dayton 
W. Searle, and of the class of 1850 l-'ranklin S. Risnig, 
Russell Slurgis, and Janies L. Van Buren, who pe- 
tit icmed iov a charter and became the founders of the 
Manhattan chapter of the Alpha Delta Phi fraternity 
at the Free Acadeniy. They made their existence 
known at Commencement hi July. 1855, by wearing 
the badge of the societ\' for the first time. They se- 
lected their members from the students who were noted 
for their scholarlv attainments, cmd scarcely ever had 



The Fraternities 479 

at any one time more than six members from any one 
class. 

This exclusiveness on the part of the Alpha Delta 
Phi left some excellent material without the advan- 
tages of membership in a secret fraternity, and in the 
spring of 1856 the Nu chapter of the Delta Kappa 
Epsilon Fraternity was organized. Henry Davis, 
Frederick A. Leeds, Adrian H. Muller, Jr., John Howe, 
Jr., John E. Ward, of the class of 1856, Jared vS. Bab- 
cock of the class of 1857, and Theodore A. Blake 
William Kirkland, and Henry Bausher of the class 
of 1857 were its founders. They continued their 
existence in secret until the Commencement in July, 
1856, when they "swung" not only the founders but 
four additional members. This chapter did not re- 
strict its membership solely to those wh(j excelled 
in their studies, but looked more to the qualities that 
go to make a generally popular classmate. 

The establishment of these two fraternities at the 
Academy did not absorb all the elements that go 
towards the making of college fraternities, and the year 
1857 saw the organization of a chapter of the Chi Psi 
fraternity, which made some pretensions to regard 
simply the social position of the families of the students 
whom they invited to become members; and to em- 
phasize this a noticeable smartness in the apparel of 
the student was observed by his fellows almost im- 
mediately after he h)ecame a member of Chi Psi. 

Fraternity conditions as thus observed remained 



4So The Fraternities 

the same for a period of nearh- nine years. During 
this time these three fraternities had the held all to 
themselves, and did about at they pleased. Their 
control was considerably felt in college politics. With 
the opening of the Free Academy there had been at once 
organized two literary societies known as the Clionian 
and the Phrenocosmian. the olliccrs of A\hich were 
elected by the niembei's. Public debates and ])ublic 
literar^• exercises were annually gi\'en at some public 
hall; and the debaters and orators for these exercises 
were also elected by the members. Naturally the 
fraternities would frciiucntly ccintrol the election to 
these positions, rarelv giving the stuilents who were 
not menibcrs of the fraternities any representation. 
This condition could not gc-> on fcn-cvcr. and so at the 
election for the orators to take part in the literary 
exercises to be given in the spring of 1866 at Irving 
Plall, much to the astc^nishment of the fraternities 
apparently no fratcniit)' man was elected; but on the 
night of that function a chapter of another fraternity 
appeared and man\' of the orators, niarshals. and com- 
mittee men wore its badge. Thus was proclaimed 
the establishment of the Upsilon chapter of the fra- 
ternity of Phi Gamma Delta, the founders of which 
were Charles II. Smith of the class of 1805, William R. 
Allen and James C. 1 lalk^ck of the class of i8oo. William 
H. Clark and Fred L. Underhill of the class of 1809. It 
*'s^^'ung out" with a membership of fifteen after having 
kept its existence a secret for more than six months. 




o 



W en 



The Fraternities 483 

The Phi Gamma Deha up to this time had been a 
distinctively Western and Southern fraternity, its 
chapters being located in the South and Southwest, 
while the other three fraternities were distinctively 
Eastern institutions. It can therefore readily be 
understood that the new fraternit}" on account of the 
manner in which it had made its debut, met with 
much opposition from the older fraternities, and every 
effort was put forth by them to refuse it recognition. 
Its members were at once dubbed "Fee Gees," their 
right to send representatives to the editorial board 
of the society annual the Microcosm was dis- 
puted, and for a time things waxed warm; but as is 
almost always the case this so-called persecution only 
helped to establish the ' ' Fee Gees ' ' more firmly, and it 
was finally deemed best by the other three that Phi 
Gamma Delta should be considered in the fold. 

Heretofore the question of membership was one 
which had been easily determined : it was generally un- 
derstood that certain men would go to Alpha Delta Phi, 
others to D. K. E., and still others to Chi Psi. But on 
the advent of the ' ' Fee Gees ' ' the situation was entirely 
changed and the "rushing" for members became a 
serious and difficult piece of work; it was done se- 
cretly, so secretly that very often the other fraternities 
were not aware of the so-called rushing of a student 
until he appeared in college with his badge of mem- 
bership. Very often the proposed candidate was 
pledged while still attending some preparatory school, 



4^4 The Fraternities 

and the issuing of the college register was watched 
for eagerly so that the field of contest might be trans- 
ferred from the college halls to the home of the intended 
member. Not alone was this secrecy observed in the 
rushing of members : the time and place of meeting of 
the four fraternities were ke]3t a profound secret and 
everything was done to mystify those without the pale. 
In 1874 a chapter of the so-called anti-secret fraternity 
Delta Upsilon was organized, but it had only a short- 
lived existence, surrendering its charter in 1879. In 
the meantime the chapter of the Chi Psi had given up 
its charter when its representation in the class of 1872 
graduated. Almost sixteen years after the establish- 
ment of the Upsilon Chapter of Phi Gamma Delta, the 
Theta Delta Chi established one of its charges, and it 
still continues to maintain with the other three fra- 
ternities its existence at the College. In 1884 a chapter 
of the Phi Delta Theta was organized, but it also 
had but a short existence at the College. There have 
been man^• local secret fraternities established from 
time to time, but their existence rarely continued for a 
longer period than four }^ears. 

Man}' of the students who were selected by these 
fraternities have attained some distinction in the 
professions that they followed, and reflect much credit 
upon the fraternity in whose chapter hall they :nay 
have received their first inspiration to follow a calling 
which has led to their success in life. 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 



485 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

Henry E. Jenkins, 'y ^ 

\A7'HENE'ER and where'er the College Boy fore- 
gathers, he shows his pure delight in living 
by bursting into melody. Even his cheer that thrills 
the benches at the great games is rhythmical and he 
sings, as the bird sings, for such his nature is. 

The college song of to-day is an evolution from the 
old English drinking choruses, the eighteenth century 
glees, and last, but not least, the songs of the German 
universities and their corps. Carmina Collegensia 
may be divided in two great classes — general and local. 
The general are the common property of all colleges, 
and, though attempts are made here and there to 
localize with new lyrics, yet so strongly wedded are 
melody and words that such attempts are mainly vain 
and fleeting. Shining examples of such are ' ' Lauriger 
Horatius," "Integer Vitse," and "Gaudeamus Igitur." 

There are, however, many old melodies which are 
themselves general and classic, but to which the words 
are not so strongly attached. These form the bulk 

of the earlier local college songs; but the tendency is 

4S7 



4«8 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

growing to use the popular song of the day as to air. 
while the words express the local atmosphere of the 
college. The burden of the college song has always 
been Wine, Woman, and Song, while to-day has been 
added the glorification of the various athletic teams. 

President Hadley of Yale says that the great 
American college song remains yet to be written, 
though he claims that "Old Nassau" of Princeton 
approaches nearer perfection than any other. 

Where, however, in all this stands C. C. N. Y. ? 
What has she done and wherein has she done it ? The 
lack of dormitorv life and the immediate contact of 
college and home would seem to militate against any 
great result. The community of interest arising from 
the total dis]')ersion of home ties and the welding of 
boyish friendshi]) without a single outside disturbing 
element are great factors in the ])nxiuction of the 
local college songs; and if C C\ N. Y. had failed to 
produce an^' result the failure could easih' be excused. 
But she has not so failed. Despite most tmfavorable 
circumstances she has given to the college world songs 
that could well be compared \\'ith those of other 
institutions. 

It has been tlifticult to compile a true history of the 
efforts in this direction. Data have been hard to find 
and oral tradition has been the greatest dependence. 

The first book of songs of which we have any 
record was published in 1859 under the title of Sans 
SoMci Songs. 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 491 

It would seem that Sans Souci was a society of the 
students of that day, and on the copy at hand appears 
the name of Adolph Werner, June 20, 1859. It was 
evident that the classics and the French and German 
languages appealed to the editors, for the authors have 
written delightful and clever songs in almost every 
tongue save English. A Latin song opens the ball. 
It is clever, and signed Chas. L. Balch, '60. Then 
comes one signed " Free Academy," to the air of "Sheep- 
skin. " Is there any one living who could give that 
air? Then come three original French songs signed 
"Free Academy." Oh, that modesty had not for- 
bade us to know the real name of that jolly Frenchman! 
Then comes a truly poetical lyric called the ' ' Song of 
the Birds," by " Incognitus Quidam, A.M." This we 
know now to be our dear friend of long ago Professor 
Charles E. Anthon. This we must give, and hope that 
it may be sung. Some academic composer should fit 
this to appropriate music, for it would be still a great 
song for alumni gatherings. 

SONG OF THE BIRDS. 

While on the board our glasses ring, 
And eyes look bright and hearts grow tender, 

Old Academia we '11 sing, 
And all who honor and defend her; 

"Frohlich und Frei, " in this our day, 
We '11 think on those who 've gone before us. 

And chant their praise in merry lay, 
And join in loud and hearty chorus. 



49- Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

To the Birds who 've left their mother's wing, 
Though their old nest they rarely come nigh, 

To them we drink, and gavlv sing: 
" Here "s to the health of old Alumni I " 

Like us they delved in antique lore, 
Shook the rich boughs of the tree of knowledge, 

Then set the table in a roar 
With all the fun of friends at college; 

Like us they pored o'er problems deep, 
Sweated at tough examinations. 

With Bartlett's puzzles banished sleep, 
Made laughing love in long vacations. 

Then here 's to the Birds who 've taken flight 
From banks of Tiber and Clitumnus, 

A health and rousing cheer to-night, 
As we drink "Success to each Alumnus." 

But now they 're scattered far and wide. 
Some dwell in castles, some in attics; 

Some preach against sin. lust, and. pride, 
Some teach Belles-Lettres. some Mathematics; 

And some in wealth already roll, 
Amaze Broadway with haughty carriage; 

And some have gained their wished-for goal 
In chaste delights of holy marriage. 

Happy, thrice happy may they prove. 
Like old Pomona and Ve/tumnus, 

And little birdlings crown the love 
Of every virtuous Alumnus. 

As they are now so we shall be; 
We think of them with hearts o'erflowing; 

The road they 've travelled travel we, 
Whither thev 've g^one we now are sroins:: 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 493 

To mighty Platform's sacred height, 
Whence graduate learning's strong aroma 

Sheds influence through the festive night, 
And perfume on the great diploma. 

Of the Birds who leave their mother's wing, 
Seldom their former nest to come nigh, 

To them we drink and gayly sing, 
"Long life to new and old Alumni!" 

Next we find a Graduation Song to "Litoria," 
written by Asa Bird Gardiner, '59 — ^no less — and a Song 
of '59 by E. A. Rowland, '59. Then again the modest 
youth who dubbed himself "Free Academy." His 
song about the "pony" is just as apropos to-day to 
the wretched youth toiling and moiling at his Greek as 
it was then. It's well worth preserving. Here it is: 

THE " LIFE PRESERVER." 

There was a class went up and down 
To seek a "pony" through the town. 

What wretches they who "notes" forsake 
Of "ponies" to advantage take. 

At last they halt before a stand 
Where books are sold as second-hand. 

'Tis advertised a "right cheap place," 
They enter in with brassy face. 

The dusty books they toss around. 
But nary "pony" could be found. 

Behold them now in blank dismay — 
"Must we get 'zero' every day?" 



494 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

Some noble youth his mind devotes 
To translate Greek with only notes. 

The morrow sees an eager crowd, 
Whilst one among them reads aloud. 

Their warmest thanks the class outpour, 
And praise him for his classic lore. 

Then out speaks one : " Here 's joy to all ! 
I met a tutor in the hall ; 

" He says a manuscript they pass, 
A legacy from class to class." 

Thus we obtain the precious prize 
"Which neither love nor money buys. 

No weary brain with labor racks, 

But yet there comes the constant "max." 

DEDUCTUM. 

Then long live ponies great and small, 
Who rides them well will never fall. 

If ponies fail, anci notes won't do. 
Get manuscripts or "fizzle through." 

The remainder of the book is made tip of the songs of 
Yale, Harvard, etc., with a few old popular favorites 
such as "Cheer, Boys, Cheer!" Doesn't that last bring 
back boyhood days to the old timers ? How we lustily 
shrieked those inspiring words in every grammar 
school in old New York in the '6o's and '70's. Never 
again for us! 

This little book Sans Soiici was a credit to the 
men of C. C. N. Y. of that early date. It showed the 



Songs of C C. N. Y. 497 

beginning of a healthy, manly college spirit and the 
commencement of our college singing. 

The next song-book on record is dated 1866. It 
is very handsomely bound and a well-set-up volume, 
being the most elaborate ever presented by C. C. N. Y. 
It is styled Songs of the College of the City of New 
York, published by the Class of '68. It has for its 
motto ' ' Music hath charms to soothe the student 
breast." An aphorism as true to-day as 'twas then. 
We cannot but note how properly, in the preface, the 
editors recognized that "song is the most pleasant, 
most refreshing, and least injurious of college 
amusements." 

As usual with the Classic spirit of the day the book 
opens with the old Latin favorites, and in deference 
to the "moderns" an original French chanson, un- 
fortunately unsigned, shows a knowledge of the Cafe 
Chantant that is rather apocryphal. Then there is a 
song signed J. R. S., '68, on the " New Life " and another 
glorifying '68. There then seem to be several original 
songs, but as they are not signed, and are more poetry 
than song, we can no more than allude to them. 

Again appears Professor Anthon's "Song of the 
Birds," but this time it is marked as "Air by Jas. A. 
Jackson." We have not been able to find out that 
air. Next, to the air of the great war song "Tramp, 
Tramp, Tramp," comes the first song of one who in 
the early '70's was the college poet best known — 
George A. Baker of '68. Then J. R. S., '68, to the air of 



49^ Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

"Duncan Gray'" wrote a clever song called "Fortune's 
Ball." but it was overshadowed by the next — unfor- 
tunatelv not signed. This latter, to the West Point air 
of "Benny Havens," we ought to sing: 

ALMA MATER O ! 

We're gathered now, my classmates, to join our parting song, 
To pluck from memory's wreath the buds which there so sweetly 

throng, 
To gaze on life's broad, ruffled sea to which we quickly go; 
But ere we start we '11 drink the health of Alma Mater O ! 

Oh, Alma Mater ! Oh, Alma Mater O ! 
But ere we start we '11 drink the health of Alma Mater 0! 

No more for us yon timeful bell shall ring for chapel prayers. 
No more to examination we'll mount yon attic stairs; 

Our recitations all are passed — Alumnuses, you know 

We "11 swell the praises long and loud of Alma Mater ! 

We go to taste the joys of life, like bubbles on its tide, 

Now glittering in its sunbeams and dancing in their pride; 

But bubble-like they '11 break and burst, and leave us sad, you 

know, 
There 's none so sweet as memory of Alma Mater ! 

Hither we came with hearts of joy, with joy we now will part, 
And give to each the parting grasp which speaks a brother's 

heart, 
United firm in pleasing words, which can no breaking know, 
For sons of York can ne'er forget their Alma Mater 01 

Then brush the tear-drop from your eye, and happy let us be. 
For joy alone shall fill the hearts of those as blest as we. 
One cheerful chorus, ringing loud, we '11 give before we go — 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 499 

The memory of college days and Alma Mater O! 

Oh, Alma Mater O ! Oh, Alma Mater ! 
Hurrah! Hurrah! for college days and Alma Mater 01 

Next A.V. P. of '68 threw off a little Latin jeu cf esprit 
which does credit to the Latin of the day even though 
it were to be sung to the tune of the * ' King of the Can- 
nibal Islands." Then again the "pony" song appears, 
and a rattling good class song of '68, and another of 
'69. There are several evidently original songs which 
are not signed. Here is one of them that the boys of 
1 9 10 could sing: 

SHEEPSKIN. 

Air — " A Little More Cider, Too." 
When first I saw a "sheepskin," 

In Prex's hand I spied it; 
I 'd given my hat and boots, I would, 

If I could have been beside it; 
But now th' examination's passed, 

I "skinned" and "fizzled" through; 
And so in spite of scrapes and flunks, 

I'll have a sheepskin, too. 

Chorus. 
I'll have a sheepskin, too, 
I'll have a sheepskin, too; 
The race is run. 
The prize is won, 
I '11 have a sheepskin, too. 

Green boughs are waving o'er us. 

Green grass beneath our feet; 
The ring is round, and on the ground 

We sit a class complete. 



500 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

But when these boughs shall shed their leaves, 

This grass be turned to hay, 
We jolly souls who now are here 

Will all be far away, (repeat twice.) 

In white degrees, 

"We "11 take our ease. 

And be Alumni, too. 

I '11 tell you what, my classmates, 

My mind it is made up: 
I 'm coming back three years from this. 

To take that silver cup. 
I '11 bring along the "requisite," 

A little white-haired lad. 
With "bib and fixings" all complete, 

And I shall be his "dad. " (repeat twice.) 

And you shall see 

How this "A.B." 

Will look when he 's a dad. 

The closing part of the book is devoted to the 
"Burial Songs" sung when the Free Academv was 
buried and the College of the City of Xew York was 
born. C. O. K., "67. or Charles Kimball M.D.. J. R. S., 
'68, now known in more stately form as Professor John 
R. Sim, and G. A. B.. '68. the ever-tuneftil Baker, these 
three specially revel in the new-bom babe. The King 
was dead — long live the King. 

FUNERAL DIRGE. 

We've laid her in the silent tomb. 
And placed the sod above her head; 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 503 

Tread softly now, in sorrow bow: 
The Free Academy is dead. 

For seventeen years while ling 'ring here 
Her work she did, nor scorned to tread 
In lowly paths; but now — alas! 
The Free Academy is dead. 

And when in future years we meet 

With those whom now we often see, 

We '11 pledge in silence and with tears 

The New York Free Academy. 

C. 0. K. '67. 

CHRISTENING SONG. 

Shout the glad tidings! exult till the morn! 

The Academy's buried, the College is born! 

Students, the story be joyfully telling, 
And shout it aloud with music and mirth: 

In glory and honor all others excelling 
New York City's College now reigns upon earth. 

Shout the glad tidings! exult till the morn! 
The Academy 's buried, the College is born! 

Tell how we waited in sad expectation. 
And let the whole world know the sorrowful tale. 

How patient we lingered, while Senators faltered, 
Till our joyous bright hopes were near ready to fail. 

Shout the glad tidings! exult till the morn! 
The Academy's buried, the College is born! 

But now in the grave Academia's lying; 
And the new-born infant before the world's eye 

Shall ever seem stronger, more bright and more glorious. 
As the swift-flashing current of time doth roll by. 

G. A. B.. '68. 



504 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

CHORUS— THERE IS A TIME. 

Air — "Old Htmdred." 

There is a time for joy to reign, 
For sorrow also there 's the same ; 
Then here let no one either shun, 
But harmonize them both in one. 

Your sorrow show by digging deep, 
By eyes bloodshot for want of sleep; 
But then let joy your bosoms swell, 
To think she 's gone where good folks dwell. 

J. R. S., '68. 

This song-book shows a remarkable progress. It- 
was largely original and owed little to other colleges. 
It indicated a brilliant class of men and a fecundity of 
rhyme that was far above the average of college verse. 
One thing is noticeable — a tinge of melancholy per- 
meates the book. The rather foolish humor of a later 
day is wanting. It is elevated in character and is an 
index to the after life of the men that brought it forth. 
They are earnest men to-day — ^they were earnest then. 

From 1866 to 1877 is a long stride. What original 
work was done in those years appeared in the various 
college publications, the Budget, the Echo, the 
Collegian, or in manuscript form was handed from 
one to the other. 

In 1877 George E. Hardy, '78, and E. E. Oudin, '78, 
approached the writer of this on the subject of a new 
song-book. Whatever the reason, the writer did not 
officially participate, but was interested in the publica- 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 505 

tion. The little paper-covered book now before me 
has the owner's name, "Le Gras," on the cover. I 
had not seen a copy for twent3.^-five years. It is a 
creditable production, though not so elaborately pre- 
sented as. the book of '68. George E. Hardy, as is 
well known, was afterwards Professor of English at 
the College. Eugene Gudin went on the stage, and 
the magnificent baritone of his boyhood days developed 
into the superb tenor of the McCall opera troupe. 

It opens with the class song of '78, very appro- 
priately, to the air of "Joe Hardy." Our old friend 
the ' ' Life Preserver ' ' now appears signed ' ' Anon. ' ' The 
fact that it was published in 1866 signed "Free Acad- 
emy" has slipped apart from college knowledge. I 
would we knew who that gallant soul was, whose song 
looked just as good in '77 as it had in '66. Peace to 
him. 

The class song of '77, by E. H., '77, is good, 
and a "Vive L' Amour" for '78 is very stirring. 
The "Song of the Birds" again appears and it shows 
how strong its hold was on the boys of those fifteen 
years. 

Eor the first time the "Son of a Gambolier"^ ap- 
pears, and with it Henry E. Jenkins, '75, makes his 
first appearance. 

1 Some years ago the editor met on shipboard in mid-Atlantic a young 
officer in the Worcestershire regiment. Apropos of something or other, 
the editor one day whistled the " Son of a Gambolier. " " What's that? " 
said the officer boy. The editor explained. " Oh, no' " said the English- 
man, "that 's been the regimental march of the Worcestershire since '' 

the editor forgets the prehistoric date. 



5o6 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

SOX OF A GAMBOLIER. 

Once I was a nobby 3"outh, 
The girls all called me sweet; 
Some said I was too good to live 
And pretty enough to eat. 
But now I 'm old and seedy grown, 
And poverty holds me fast, 
The girls all turn their noses up 
Whenever I go past. 

Chorus. 
Come join my humble ditty. 
From Tippery town I steer; 
Like every honest fellow, 
I drink my lager beer; 
Like every honest fellow, 
I take my whiskey clear; 
I 'm a rambling rake of poverty 
And the son of a Gambolier. 
I 'm the son of a — son of a — 
Son of a Gambolier! 
I 'm the son of a — son of a — 
Son of a — son of a — son of a Gambolier! 
Like every honest fellow, 
I take my whiskey clear; 
I 'm a rollicking rake of poverty. 
And the son of a Gambolier. 

If I had a barrel of whiskey, 

And sugar, three hundred pound, 

The college bell to put it in 

And the clapper to stir it 'round, 

I 'd drink to the health of Old New York, 

And spread it far and near; 




O !^ 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 509 

I 'm a rambling rake of poverty, 

And the son of a Gambolier. 

Chorus. 

H. E.J., '75. 

The class song of '80 foretells what they 've suc- 
ceeded in doing, and again appears "The Janitor's 
Song" from the book of '66. 

THE JANITOR'S SONG. 

Air — "Song of the Shirt." 

With features sallow and grim, 

With visage sadly forlorn. 
The Janitor sat in the Janitor's room, 

Weary, and sleep}^ and worn. 
'Tis a fact! fact! fact! 

He sat with a visage long; 
And still as he sat, with a voice half cracked, 

He sang this Janitor's song: 

"Sweep! sweep! sweep! 

In dirt, in smoke, and in dust, 
And sweep! sweep! sweep! 

Till I throw down my broom in disgust. 
Stairs, and chapel, and halls, 

Halls, and chapel, and stairs. 
Till my drowsy head on my shoulder falls, 

And sleep brings release from my cares. 

"From the very first crack of the gong, 
From the earliest gleam of daylight. 

Day after day and all day long. 
Far into the weary night, 



5io Songs oi C. C X. V. 

It's swoop! swoop! swoop! 

Till my broom doth a pillow seem; 
Till over its handle I fall asleep. 

And swoop away in my dream. 

"O students of high degree. 

(I seorn to address a low follow") 
O Seniors nn^st reverend, potent, and grave. 

\^\n the words of my Unele Othello") 
^ly story's a sad one indeed. 

Notwithstanding yom" laughter and sport ; 
My life is naught but a broken rood. 

And my broom is my only support." 

"With features sallow and grim. 

With visage sadly forlorn. 
The janitor sat in the Janitor's room. 

"Weary, and sleepy, and worn. 
It 's a faot! faot! faot! 

He sat with a visage forlorn. 
And still as he sat. with a voioe half oraoked, 

He sang the Janitor's song. 

Next comes oito which is sung to this day and yet 
Avas the result of an accidetit. It was the night before 
the Seiiior examination in Higher Mathematics. A 
poor student had worked for hours endeavoring to 
make up what he had omitted to do ditritig the term, 
just before dayhght. wont arid weary, his brain tilled 
with the nvtutenclatttre at least if with nothing else of 
the science, he scribbled a few stanzas in contempt of 
what he was doing. 

A few davs later, ^\■hcn called on for a song, he 



Songs of C. C N. Y. 511 

handed this out. It touched a tender chord in each 
sad breast, was adopted as a class song, and was sung 
by the class of '75 at its introduction to the alumni. 

FAREWELL, YE COTANGENT ! 

Farewell ye cotangent, cosecant, cosine! 

All the joys of Ecliptics we now must resign; 

In the sphere of the wide world we 're going to soar, 

And the old Equinoctial shall know us no more. 

Chorus. 
Right ascensions, declinations, zenith distances too. 
With polar co-ordinates we 're entirely through ; 
Our hard work with Compton is over and done, 
And we don't care a for the spots on the sun. 

Heliocentric, geocentric, and annual parallax, 
Have stuffed our brains full with their horrible fax (facts) ; 
But fill up your glasses and all drink away, 
And keep up your drinking for a mean solar day. 

Chorus. 

Occultations, eclipses, and transits as well 
Have cast o'er our poor brains their magical spell ; 
But now we 've made a transit, and from college are free. 
And we leave every planet to its own majesty. 

Chorus. 

The moon is no longer an object to us, 
For the transit of Venus we don't care a cuss: 
Our fingers we snap in the face of the stars, 
And we heed not Jew-peter, nor Venus, nor Mars. 

Chorus. 
H. E.J., '75. 

The "Graduation Song" of Colonel Gardiner" 59, 



51- 



Soiil:s oi C. C. N. V 



ai^ain appi'ars. 'Phis alsi» stxMUs In ha\o hit tho hoys 
tVoni '51) Id '77. So \\cvc il is: 

I'.KAiU'A ru>x soxi;. 

Air -" l.iloria ■' 

Oiu'o inoro cur (\i1U\l;c 1 hills \vr Ihroiiijj. 

Swi't." <K' 1.1 w I'l' (limi Ituni, 
To iH'lui (Uii" sail |>arlini; soiii^, 

S\\ 01' i\c la WO" (luin Iniiii ; 
Ami ^root tho malrs wo think most ili\ir, 

Swro lie la WW rlui hi ra sah, 
With h(.\ii-t\' v^rasp auil t'riiMulh' i,'lu'or, 

S\\ (."(.' dv la w c(." ilum Inim. 

Clionis. 

hitoi-ia. hitoria. swco dc la w c i.'hu hi ra sah, 
hitiM-ia, hitiiria. swcc dc la wc elum Inim. 

1m\(.' \cars ot pliMsaiit toil ami strito 
lla\i- tilliHl tlu> sum {''i stiulont lito 
W'hu'h soon on lit'o's trmpostxious sea 
Will li\i> alone in miMUory. 

Then sound eaeh \oiee in heavttelt strain, 
We 're linked 1>\' toiivl alTeetion's ehain, 
Whieh in the Nears ot' swit't \\in_i;eil fate 
Shall tvu'n our thouj^hts to Se\ent_\' eij^ht. 

Aiul when in at'ter years wi^ meet, 
At \ ork, sai^e l.earniui^'s ehosen seat, 
Sweet mem'ries to our hearts will eome 
Ot' ila\s ouee passed in C'oUej^e Home, 

A. n. G., '50. 

Tlio luH^k winds u]> ai>pn^priatcl\' witli tlio I'lrnih' 
oslahhshod it" not partioidarK' poetical 




Q 

f-< CO 



P 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 515 

HERE 'S TO N. Y. COLLEGE. 

Here 's to New York College, 
Drink it down, drink it down! 
Here 's to New York College, 
Drink it down, drink it down! 
Here's to New York College, 
For it 's there we get our knowledge, 
Drink it down, drink it down. 
Drink it down, down, down. 

Balm of Gilead, Gilead, 
Balm of Gilead, Gilead, 
Balm of Gilead, way 
Down on the Bingo farm. 

We won't go there any more. 
We won 't go there any more. 
We won't go there any more, 
Way down on the Bingo farm. 

Bingo, Bingo, 

Bingo, Bingo, 

Bingo, Bingo, 

Way down on the Bingo Farm. 

B-I-N-G-0. 

We won't go there any more. 

We won't, etc. 

In 1 88 1 the editors of the Mercury, then just 
founded, x:)ublished two editions of Songs Which 
Every Student Knows, or Ought To. The Httle gray 
pamphlets contain nothing which does not appear 
in earher song-books. 

The next song-book we can find is called the C. C. 



5i6 Songs ofC C N. Y. 

A^. Y. Song-Book and is dated 1886. It was compiled 
and edited b)' Lewis M. F. Haase and Charles K. 
Johansen. 

This is almost a pamphlet, and opens with what the 
last song-book closed with ' ' Here 's to N . Y. College. " It 
contains but little original work — ^one " Polly Wolly 
Doodle," signed J., and a song to C. C, N. Y. by T. 
Baumeister, '87." 

There 's the " Parting Ode of '84 " by Julius Mayer, 
'84, and the "Parting Ode of 85" by George B. Mc- 
Auliffe. Larremore's " C. C. N. Y." again appears, but 
the author is lost in the shuffle and it appears as 
anonymous. The class ode of '88 is by F. C. D., '88, but 
the remainder of the books is made up of old-time 
choruses. 

The last book we have been al)le to see was also 
called the C. C. N. Y. Song-Book. It was published 
in 1889 b)' E. G. Fischlowitz, William Abraham, and 
E. G. Alsdorf of the class of '8g. It opens with a 
dignified and impressive song by D. A. H., 'go, which 
should be preserved: 

SONG OF THE COLORS. 

Our country's stripes and stars, 
Its azvu'e sky and bars, 

These we adore. 
This theme subHnie and grand, 
Rings now from strand to strand. 
Re-echoes o'er the land, 

"Flag of the free!" 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 517 

There, joining hand and hand, 
Savage and white man stand — 

Flag of our State. 
Emblem of law and peace, 
Justice and right for each. 
In home and school then teach, 

Thy godly word. 

Back o'er thy early years, 
Founded 'mid hopes and fears. 

Proudly we gaze. 
At thy great work to-day, 
Our nation looks and says, 
"Shine on, ye purple rays. 

In future days. " 

Join then this triune there. 
Together float in air, 

Our flags on high. 
Liberty, wisdom, law, 
Be watchwords as of yore. 
Guide thee forevermore, 

C. C. N. Y. 

T. Baumeister's " C. C. N. Y." again appears, but 
the book is mainly a brief compilation of old college 
choruses. A few selections found in the earlier books 
are presented; the authors, however, are seemingly lost. 
There 's a " Graduation Song," but it 's the one written 
by Asa Bird Gardiner of '59. The "pony" song of the 
earlier books appears unfathered and Henry E. Jenkins, 
'75, is represented by the " Steady on the Bobtail," but 
his memory is forgotten and the verses are nameless. 



5i8 Songs of C C N. Y. 

These are all the song-books we have been able 
to lind, but many of the best songs of the College 
have been written for publication in the various 
periodicals that have risen and fallen until the 
Mcratry has now established itself securelw Such 
temporar)- publicity as these journals offered the 
aspiring Ivrist was usualh' of briefest character; but 
the fc^Uowing song by Emile A. Huber of '77 is too 
good to be lost : 

SONG OF '77. 
By Eniile Andivw lluber. Class Poet. 
To the tune of " So lel>' (U-im wohl, du altcs llaus." 

There comes a nuinniir from the sea; 
It strangely calls for yon ami me. 
Our turn has come — we hear it tell; 
Farewell, you yet that wait, — farewell. 

Oiu' turn has ctnnc, we nuist away; 
To where. t\)r what — n(^ man can sav. 
We leave the port, wc make the main; 
Ami, scattering, ma)' not meet again. 

But be we strong, and be we stout 
To dare the dark and scorn the tloubt. 
High let a mighty hope upswell. 
And chcerly ring the last farewell. 

Then fare you well, old guardian hall, 
Anil fare you well, m\' comrades all; 
For weal or woe. for fair or fell, 
God speed us all — farewell — farewell. 

Here is a very bright little bit which appeared 




Q 



A r 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 521 

anonymously in the Mercury at the time when under 
direction of Professor Doremus, the city authorities 
covered the obehsk in the park with paraffine to pre- 
serve it from the weather : 

THE LAMENT OF THE OBELISK. 

I am crumbling, Egypt, crumbling 

In this climate of the free. 
And I grumble as I crumble. 

That they severed you and me. 

And my tenderest thoughts go outward 

To those centuries the while 
That I stood in perfect beauty 

And adorned the wending Nile. 

Gentle breezes kissed my forehead, 

Fragrant waters laved my feet, 
And I held the graven secrets 

With a vigilance complete. 

But these sacrilegious moderns 

Saw the product of thy skill. 
And their curious disposition 

Nerved a never-conquered will. 

I was brought across the ocean 

And erected here to be — 
Oh, the shame of my condition : — 

Just a curiosity. 

I am crumbling, Egypt, crumbling, 

Of my shame, accept this sign — 
And they 're painting me, O Egypt, 

With some horrid paraffine. 



5-- Soin^s of C\ C. N. V. 

Willnii" Lanvnunv. "75, aiul above all Lowis Sa\Tc 
lUirchard. '77, ha\"o Ikvii prolitic anUrilnilors to the 
rolk\L:o pot^ioal liU\ nurcharil's work has been 
lars^cl)' loi" aliiinni j^al borings. 'I'bo l'\ibivj^ou diiinor, 
the ('onii^on juImIoo, aiul alumni nioohnj^s ha\'o boon 
onli\\MK\l b\ his \viil\- aiul brilliani tanoios. 

This is a lilllo " Marohinj; Soul;" thai tnij^ht to bo 
snni; b\ all (ho bo\s. Tho air is lakon ti\Mn a Ininn 
nuk'h suni; in tho publio sohools in fornior \oars 
and pofhaps to daw and basod upon tho rofrain "\'o- 
nito Adoroinus" ot a niodia>\al Latin hxinn, " Adeste 
l-idolos." 

SICRI'XAPIC MAROUlNl^. Sl>XG. 
I\ci>\i!ii 

\cn\[c ;ul Poroinus 

l-a X'imuu' 
Oint\os lumo (.-antonuis 

On a Inuu. 

Elioraoi CoUos^io 

Bibotuiutnl 
Giload-Giloadi 

Halsatnuin' Refrain. 

In arlnn-o sodcrvint 

Niijr;o tros 
Et "Caw, oaw , caw'" clamarunt 

Coniioos. /\V/;\j/h. 

Not! panom \inq\ian\ danuis 

Cun\ una 
Maritimi piscis 

Pilula. Refrain. 



Soncrs of C. C. N. Y. 



Prfjy/ insulas Canary 

J'osiremum 
Tristissime fumavi 

Ci^arum. Refrain. 

O vcni, hfjspcs, implc 

Patcras; 
Noct' hac j^audcamus, 

vSobri' eras. Rejrdin. 

Ad urbc Tijjjjorari 

Grcssus sum; 
Filii ^ambolieri 

I'ilius sum. Refrain. 

In ripa canis; rama 

Tn aqua. 
Pcmina;, valetc! 

Upida! 



523 



Refrain. 
L. S. H., '77. 



Of the foUowinj.^ efforts of Burehanl's, the 
Fabregou verses anf] the Kiplingesrjue lines about 
Comjjton are not songs, but they are j^rinted here 
beeause we love the professors. "A Jubilee Song for 
'53" and "The Compton Jubilee" shr^uld be sung while 
the College stands and the boys have thrrjats. 

LINES REM) AT TJIJi I'ABREGOU DIX.VER, MAY 27, 7904. 

(The "Ancients" of the Class of '77 had Professor Fabre^ou for 
only fjne hour in their entire Collej^e course.; 

I sit upon the Boulevards 

And hear the flaneurs " parley- voo, " 



524 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

And pass a few remarks myself — 
(I've had an hour with Fabregou.) 

The maitre d'hotel with bow superhe 

Hands me un magnifique "menoo"; 
I pick hijstek without mistake — 

(I 've had an hour with Fabregou.) 

I walk upon the Norman strand 

And gaze in "eyes of Breton blue"; 
In course of time I hold her hand — 

Thanks to that hour with Fabregou ! 

On Fourviere's cathedral 'd height 

I breathe these words: '' Je suis a vous T' 

And other things as pertinent — 
Grace a cette heure de Fahrcii^oii ! 

"L'heure verte'' we know — the shading trees, 

The frappcd absinthe's opal'd hue, 
The chat beguiling reveries, 
And memories drifting over seas 

Back to that hour with Fabregou. 

But best this golden hour, dear friend. 

When, rallying here for love of you. 
While tables ring from end to end, 
In tears and cheers old comrades spend 

This last great hour with Fabregou. 

THE TALE OF THE JUBILOOTIONER. 

(after tippling.) 

(A Variation on Kipling's "Soldier an' Sailor Too," The Seven 

Seas.) 

A-walking away from the Arion Club the night of the Jubilee, 
I passed a jovial elderly gent a-cheering for '5_^. 



Songs of C. C. N. Y. 527 

He was sailing along both sides of the road, and I said to him^ 

' ' Who are you ? ' ' 
Says he: "I'm a Jubilootioner, and to-night's the Jubiloo! 
" I 'm one of the Class of '53 — there was n't no '52. 
"There's nothin' alive that's older 'n us; — we're Noah's original 

crew. 
"We 're what you call semi-Centurions, and to-night 's the Jubiloo! 

"We've been floatin' around this small round earth a matter of 

fifty years; 
"There's me, and John Hardy (you've heard of him?), The 

Banta, and Jimmy Steers; 
"And the Little Professor, in honor of whom they're giving this 

Jubiloo ; — 
"(For he's our Compton, our competent Compton, scholar and 

gentleman too.) 
"He's the semi-Centuriest one o' the bunch — the cause of the 

whole Hurroo. 
"There 's nothing too good for him, I say — we gave 'im the grand 

bazoo. 
" He 'sourhyperest, superestgraduate^scholar and gentleman too. 

"I saw him a-sittin' in Chellborg's once, in front of a large round 
bun, 

" A-stowin' in lunch at half past five, as if it were half past one. 

"He'd been foolin' 'round after hours a bit, a-pullin' some 
engineers through. 

"(Oh! that's our Compton, our competent Compton — always- 
something to do.) 

"He can't leave ofE when he once begins — (and that 's where he 
differs from you!) 

"His daily job runs from yesterday till day-after-tomorrer at two. 

"He's a kind o' perpetsh '1-tuitioner, puttin' post-graduates- 
through. 



528 Songs of C C. N. Y. 

"I called at the President's Office once, when I heard that they'd 

made him Prex — 
'A committee of one from '53 to convey the boys' respects; 
'Said they: 'You'll find him around the place; he ain't much 

here on view; 
'(For he's our Compton, concomitant Compton — Professor and 

President too.) 
' ' He may be up in the North-East tower a-peekin' his telescope 

through ; 
"Or down in the Workshop showing mechanicals how to fashion 

a screw. ' 
' He 's a sort of a super-Professident — Professor and President too. 

' He 's a good pedestriosopher, and can do his forty mile; 

'And a pianisticophysicist, and plays Chopin in style; 

' Anon he 's off to report an eclipse, or a transit of Venus to view — 

'For he's our Compton, our computating Compton — (him and 
his logari'ms too!) 

'He'll give you, in mathematical terms, the cause of the rain- 
bow's hue; — 

' It 's a wave-length's somethin' or other squared that makes it 
yellow or blue. 

' He 's a telesco-microscopical chap — and full of calculi too. 

' I took a vacation with him one year — a sort of a woodland 

tramp — 
'There was me, and Steers, and Charley Holt; — and he 'took 

us into camp. ' 
'He caught all the trout and made the camp and paddled the 

whole canoe, 
'For he was our Compton, our camp-locating Compton — a sage 

and a hatchet-man too. 
'The trees had lamp-post signs for him; with guides he'd 'ave 

nothing to do; 




W in 



Songs of C C N. Y. 53' 

"And I thought, if he died, in the woods so wide, how the deuce 

could we ever get through? 
"He's an Adirondackicographer — guide and philosopher too. 

"No matter what subject you tackle him on, from tennis to 

literatoor, 
"When he ain't a professional up to the hilt, he 's an A-i amatoor ; 
" He can hablar in Spanish, and sprechen in Deutsch, and of course 

he can ' parley-voo ' ; 
"For he's our Compton, our comprehensive Compton, an old and 

a young man too. 
"He handled a Cuban cocoanut ranch, and pulled the whole 

shootin' match through; — 
" (Just then he was Compton, non-combatant Compton — he had 

to keep out of the stew.) 
"And he's climbed an Alpine summit or so, when he'd nothing 

else to do; 
"He's a multiple-poly-ability-man — there's noihin' that feller 

can't do! 

" But when the College, for all her knowledge, was sadly in want 

of a site, 
" Non-comVjatant Compton turned combatant Compton, and 

sailed right into the fight; 
"He proved our centre of gravity moved to Convent Avenoo; — 
"For he was our Compton, Committee-man Compton, puttin' 

the Buildin' Bill through. 
"And whether it's on St. Nicholas Heights or Lexin'ton Avenoo, 
''If ever there 's work for a loyal son of our Mother Dear to do, 
"You can count on our Compton, our competent Compton — for 

Captain, Mate, or Crew." 



532 Songs of C. C. N. Y 



A JUBILEE SONG FOR '53. 
Air: — "Jollj^ DoKs." 

Some four and fifty years ago the old Academee 
Set up in biz witli a nol)lc band, the Class of '53. 

Chorus. 

For the '50's were so jolly, oh! so jolly, oh! so jolly, oh! 

The '50's were so jolly, oh! for the Class of '53. 

They Bohned, — they cribbed, — 

They flunked, ha! ha! they flunked, ha! ha! 

They Bohned, — theA' cribbed, — 

O! just like you and nic. 

Jubilee! Jubila! (3 times) 

La, la, la, la, la, la, la, etc. 
Slap! Bang! here they are aj^^ain, here they are again, 

here they are again. 
Slap! Bang! here they are again. 

Hurrah for '53! 

When Compton was an undergrad., a kid of 5 foot 3, 

He scooped most everything in sight, but the Valedictoree. 

Chorus. 

For he always seemed so stoojus, oh! so stoojus, oh! — so 

stoojus, oh! 
Vnv he really ivas so stoojus, oh! in good old '53- 
No Bohns! — No cril)s! — no flunks! — on! no! no flunks — 

OH ! no! 
All id's— no 9's— for little A. G. C. 

Jubilee! Jubila! (3 times) 

La, la, la, etc. 
Fresh! Soph! Bully little man! Bully little man! Bully 

little man ! 






>ti 






o 






y 






TJ 




OT 


p! 




'o 


nJ 




« 


« 




o 


'a 


CO 


hJ 


'-*-4 


in 


^J 


O 




w 


03 




ffi 


l-i 




O 


03 





Ph 



Souths of C. ( . N. V. 535 

S'IRAM.iri 'l'ill'()iM,ii ' r.iilly liUlc 111,111, 
Ol Mir (:i;ir/, n\ ' <; >. 

So when hi', l.c'M lici ■, liiMM'i I liiiii (,iil , ii|i '.iKil.c ,-1 Ic.M 'li ir,|,(;(-, ; 
" Wf 'II riil.ci' III III I'll ;i, I II |i ii ',hi|) I') I 1 ,1111 I'd I he I' ;i,' ii I Ire. " 

Chorus. 

A II' I I lie 'ill 1 1)1 I II loicd very well, so very well, so wvA'y well, 

Aii'l I lif Till, '/I I II I'lic'l very well 

I II All' ifii I, 1 1 r,i 'Mcc 

J le t,.'ui;',lil. '." lull' li 

Tb(!y ni.'i'lc Imn I'm-I, llicy iii;i,i'c, Inin I'l'd 

I le l,;i,ii;;li I ■,' > inii' li , 

In I. Ik- yu<»\ '-M T.-i' nil.-.- 

) iilnlei; ' ) iiltil.'i ! ( /, I line:,; 

L;i, l;i,, l.'i., el,r, 
'I"oo-| ! I'l'oi'' I'.iilly IiMJ.' I'i',l ' I'.iilly III,!,!.: i'i',| ' I'.iijl/ 

liMl'- l'i',l ' 
Tool ' i'lM.r ' I'.nlly liUj.: |'i',|! 
Ill III'' ;;')'.'! ')l'l l';i' iillc'-. 

Now .'ilt'T (ill,-/ ;n'iiioiis ye;M'. of lii;^li ;i'.l,roiioinee, 

'Diey jHii, liini in I lie l'n;x's cli,'!!! I'/ odiii'l ii)» Naughty Three. 

('horns. 

All' I lie i„-i,ke'; i I, ,'ill so caHy, oh ! 80 easy, oh! ho easy, oh! 

II'-. I;il:<-', il, ;i,ll ',o '-.'tsy, oh! wherever lu- iTluy bc, 

An'i iiov/ lor ;i. ' li;i.n^(e— We ' .'ill lnni I'rex; — ^WG e,'i,ll Inni 

I 'rex, 
Aii'l 11')-// \)\/ )')•/(■,' ,'i, fine lil.lJe I'lex v , he! 
jiil.il'-.-' JnlMJ;!,' ( ', l,ini'-,j 
La, l;i,, l;i,, el,r. 
Pkkx! Vu<U'\ I'»otli ol ''-ni ,-il, (>\\i.(;\ \,<,\.\\ ',\ 'em ;i,t, oneo; 
l-'-l.h ',1 ''1(1 ;il, '/II' ' 



536 Songs ofC. C N. Y. 

Prex! Prof! Both of 'em at once. 
And a tip top "both" is he! 

Stand up, stand up, ye silvertops o' the Class of '53, 

And hear us, ere we say Good Night, hurrah for Prexy C. ! 

Chorus. 

May he always be so jolly, oh! so joUy, oh! so jolly, oh! 
May he always be so jolly, oh! wherever he may be. 
Three cheers! Three cheers! Hurrah, hurrah! Hurrah, 

hurrah ! 
Three cheers! Three cheers! Hurrah for Prexy C. ! 

Jubilee! Jubila! (3 times) 

La, la, la, etc. 
Slap! Bang! Hit 'er up again! Hit 'er up again! Hit 

'er up again! 
Slap! Bang! Hit 'er up again! 

Hurrah for A. G. C. ! 

THE COMPTON JUBILEE. 
Air: "Marching through Georgia." 

When we went to College, boys, a sandy little man 
Taught us that the universe was built on Bartlett's plan; 
All our heads could ever hold left off where his began : 
Compton, our Compton forever! 

Chorus: 

Hurrah! Hurrah! From eighteen fifty-three, 
Hurrah! Hurrah! 'Way down to " Naughty-three, " 
For fifty years of solid work we sing the Jubilee 
Of Compton, our Compton forever! 

He taught us how the waves of sound came booming through 

the air; 
He taught us all the coy delights that lurk in "^ r^"; 




Acting President of the College, 1902-1903. 



537 



Sonp;-s of C. C. N. Y. 539 

He never threw no tens around, 1:)ut always marked us fair, 
Did Compton, our Ccjmptfjn forever! 

Chorus: 

Ilurrali ! (hi]j) Ilurrali! (hi]j) The old Acadcmee! 
Hurrah! (hip) Hurrah! (hip) The good old Facultee! 
Doremus, Woolf, and Werner dear, and likewise Dochartee 
And Compton, our Compton forever! 

We seen him work the panel-game, explaining of the skies; 
We seen him at the bakery, consuming cakes and pics; 
He was a wise Professor once — they made him superwise, — 
Compton, our Compton forever! 

Chorus: 

Hurrah ! ITuiTah ! Hurrah ! for Prexy C. ! 
Hurrah! Hurrah! The pride of '53! 
He taught the boys for fifty years, so now it's Jubilee 
For Compton, our Compton forever! 

We'll have a new Commander soon to lead us in the fight, 
When Alma Mater takes her stand on ytjndcr castled height; 
But fifty years he's been in front — we'll cheer for him to night 
For Compton, our Compton forever! 

Chorus : 

Hurrah! (hip) Hurrah! (hip) Hurrah! for A. G. C! 
Hurrah! (hip) Hurrah! (hip) We shout his Jubilee! 
There's fifty years of solid work been done for you and 
me I 

By Compton, our Compton forever. 

ThivS covens the song work of C. C. N, Y. as re- 
vealed by its published works. It is to be hoped that 
some one will compile and edit what has been produced 



540 Songs of C. C. N. Y. 

since 1890, and with what is known from the past one 
good big creditable song book coukl be made for the 
use of future s^enerations of C. C. N. Y. 



Adspice 

The College of the Present 



541 



The College of the Present 

John Huston Finley, President of the 
College 

^^ T^HERE is an instinctive sense," says Emerson 
in his essay on Politics, "that the highest 
end of government is the culture of men, that if 
men can be educated, the institutions will share their 
improvement and the moral sentiment will write the 
law of the land." That instinctive sense has found 
splendid expression in the State universities, and not- 
ably in this the first of municipal colleges. Whatever 
the shortcomings of democratic government in States 
or cities may be, there is reason for abiding hope so 
long as the citizens of these States or cities give sincere^ 
intelligent, and generous support to institutions for 
the culture of men. 

And this — the culture of men — is distinctly the 
object of our College; it is not to make doctors and 
lawyers, nor even teachers, writers, and scientists; 
it is first of all to give young men, through guidance 
and discipline, access to the riches of the race's ex- 
perience, not for the mere earning of a livelihood but 

543 



544 



\\\c C olU''i' 1)1 tlu- rirsiMil 



Im I l>r (Muu >1 iliiii; el liU\ .nhl I luMi h> I >ri;rt oi' s( ri'Uj.'tln'U 
111 iluMii llu- will l*» Imiui", lli.il iMllU'tunl llll" to llio 
1h-I Um iiiv. ol I lir hir ol I lu> r* >n\ii>uiiil \ , I lir Sl.ll^^ 
l \\,\\c t>tl<'ii in. nil- llu:; simuiMluMi i>l iis tiiiu-hoi\;;; 
t(^ tiMili iiUMi tin- Imlli, h> ti-.u'h tlnM\> lh>\\ U> U'll il, 
.111(1 (lieu iU'\cK>i> ui ihi'iM llir ilrsiir .il\\,i\s to spiMk 
il, l>t'iMu.-,r lliiMr .111" iiuin\ lUiMi \\lu> I'.iimot trll [\\c 
tnilli let t'lu' .it liMSl i>l tlurr hmsoiis; imIIum [\\c\ tK> 
iu>l kin>\v il, or kiiowui;-. It »1*' not w i:.h to trll it, or 
kih.win*" It .iihl wislim;' to [c\\ it kih>\\ not how So 
I h.i\ r w 1 It ti'ii niuli'i om oKl, tmr nu>t to, .mot 1 in " \'ir. 
W'lit.is, \'o\." tlu- ni.ni, tlir tintli, .iiul tlir xou'i- to 

S|HMk It 

JMit 111 wli.it IS tins i>in (\>llc)',i> prvnli.ir, ilist inrt i\'t\ 
.iini'ii;; till- rollrv'.t'S, in its .iiin. rh.ii .irliM , ^n .sro|>r:' 

JMisl, it IS tlu> onl\ ;.m'imI ihImii instilntioii ot 
iniii" rolU'i'.uitr t\iH' in tins roniilr\. V\\c .Xhumumii 
i-olli>>',c li.is, as a iiiU\ lun-n i'l.inU\l ,nul nounsluHl in 
[\\c y\\\\c[ i't' tlir rountiA, or li.is, in its jnowth, Ihhmi 
.sni roniulr^l 1«\ \ ilkii-.o. tv>w n, oi sin.ill rit\. JMit with 
tlu" vKw rlojMiUMil ol tlu>;.'.HMt (Ml irs h.is i-onu> tlu' iu\h1 
(>t tlio iiitMii v-olU\;;r. siiu'i' t lions.iiuk; ot \onnj'. nuMi 
.iiul wonuMi wonkl \'c Ac\'\\\c^\ ot .ill rli.uuT i'l a 
IwyUcv tnliuMt ion. r\i-i>pt tor ,-.iu-li |Mo\ision Tlio 
ronntiA' rolU\v;o is no Uv;^; ihh^UhI now ih.iu in the past. 
Init lor till' iiMSon tli.it tlu- tntnio v>t tins diMnoiMaox' 
is inoivasini.;l\' ilcpiMuliMil upon llu'^niMt nrlMn popnla- 
lions, il i.s ol' inrroasin^ import. mro ih.it thrso .shonkl 
Ih' int'ormoil o[ Ih.il spirit aiul mtrllii-.iMU'i' wliu-li it is 




,4'', 



The College of the Present 547 

the mission of the college to help bring. There is now 
a university in every great city, but our College is 
unique in that it is the only urban institution of 
purely collegiate character and aim — and it is one 
of the largest of the class of colleges. 

Second, it is the only higher educational institu- 
tion supported entirely by a city. Many States with 
a population varying from a few hundred thousand 
to four millions provide a collegiate (and even pro- 
fessional) training wholly or partly at the public 
expense, but New York City is the first of all the cities 
to make such provision, a provision more generous 
than is made by any other city of the world, though it is 
exceeded by many of our States of smaller population. 

Third, it sends out a larger proportion of its gradu- 
ates to teach in the public school than any other college 
of liberal arts and sciences. This gives it a peculiarly 
important function in the city's life, for there is no 
higher service that it can perform for the city than 
thoroughly to train in body, mind, and spirit the men 
who are to be in turn the teachers of the city's 
youth. 

Fourth, it maintains its own preparatory depart- 
ment and so has under its immediate supervision the 
training of most of the students who enter the College. 
This plan has great advantages in that there is no 
waste or loss of time. The College is one of the few 
institutions which make it possible for the student to 
proceed without serious break in his course from the 



54^ The College of the Present 



gate of the elementar\' school to his degree. Whatever 
disath'aiitage lliere is, conies from the association of 
college and ] )rci )aratory students in such ])hysical 
relationshi]^ that they must l)e under one discipline. 
The growth of the collegiate department will in time 
make their dissociation practicable. It is to be noted 
with gratificaticm that the high schools of the city, 
under the new plan of ])rom()tions recently adopted, 
will enable the student in these schools to conform 
more nearly to the reciuiremcnts of the College, and 
there is reason to expect that the College will in the 
near future come into closer and rnore efficient re- 
lationship with all the post-elementar)' schools sup- 
ported l)y the city. 

These conditions peculiar to the College give it a 
unique place among the colleges of America. It is a 
temperate statement that no college has a work at 
its hands more vital than has this College. Standing 
at the I'lace where Europe is "stepping up into Amer- 
ica," as Mr. Br)-ce ]mt it on the day when he visited 
the College, it has a peculiar task and one upon whose 
efficient doing the maintenance of the ideals of this 
peo])le in some good measure depends. 

But I may not look forward, as I ma\' nc^t recount 
the unheralded, unostentatious service of those into 
whose labors we ha\'e entered, those men who have 
met one of the cardinal recjuirements of the ideal 
teacher in their "readiness to be forgotten." I must 
kee]) to the ])resent. 




ll 



Annex at Number 209 East Twenty-third Street. 



54Q 



The College of the Present 551 

The men's concjj^cs of ilie dny .'ii-c, iiiKh-r ^yc.',\,i pres- 
sure fr(;ni the (lc'ni.'i,ii(1s of l])e .material, tlic; e().mm(!r('ia,l, 
the so-ealled praetieal; but this Colle^^e is stoutly 
maintaining its cultural ideaJs. It gives such ehic- 
tives in the later years of the eourses <'i,s will let youug 
men go in the direetion of eertnin profcissions; it h.-is 
one building devoted to tlu; meclianic'il arts; it lias also 
the best e(|ui])])ed ehemic.-il, pliysical, .'uid biological 
laboratories; but the courses in liljend arts and in tlic 
foundations of science an; dominant. The College, 
appreciating the tem])ta1,ions, the obtrusiveness of the 
nearer — the economic — environment, is ever (!m])h,'i:;i/- 
ing the importance of the wider, the enviixjnment of 
the race's highest and farthest ])rogress. 

And tliere are no s])eci,'i.l s1,ud(;nts, no s])(K:in,l courses. 
The result is that there is a l^ody of sturdy students 
who make their college work their chief fx;cup,'i,tion, 
though many of them are under such economic con- 
ditions as to be obliged to contribute to their own suj)- 
port while studying. There is little flawdling or 
trifling or dissipating. The day's work is exacting; 
the sections are kept at such a size that the teacher 
may know all his i^uj^ils anrl j)ersonally guide them; 
the general mien of the stuflents is serious, ]>erh.'i,ps 
too serious ; the teachers make teaching their m.'iin 
productive work. The total recjuirement is ]jrob.'i.bly 
n.f;t exceeded by any other college. While the O^llege 
now jjreseribes substantially the same conditions h^r 
admission as other colleges, it requires four years of. 



55- The College of the Present 

residence and eighteen credit hcnirs ]^er week through 
those four years as' compared with fifteen in many. 

The College has lacked the benefits of campus life. 
Even daih- or frec|uent assemblies of the entire student 
bod\- have not been ]ih\'sicaUv ixissible. But with 
the removal to the new buildings, some of the ad- 
vantages of the count r\-, dcmnit(M-y college will be 
had. A campus of some size, high above the city, 
with ] larks about; a conccnu'se for the gathering of 
small groups of students, a commons, a g\-mnasium, 
and a great hall for ckiily assemblies will give the 
students and teachers some of the oppc^n unities for 
the develo]nnent of a community life now wanting, 
and the cidlivation oi a stronger, more ardent college 
spirit. 

The best wc^rd that can be said for our democracy 
is that which describes the provision which is made 
for the education and especially the higher education 
of its youth. There is no nobler conceit of our civili- 
zation than that which has expression in our College 
— an institution through which one generation seeks 
to make its experiences the disciplines of the next, its 
best but imrealized hopes the achievements of thc^se 
who come after. The responsibility that falls to such 
a body of teachers is great beyond measm-e, but the 
opportunity is commensurate with the responsibility. 
It is a sacred office and task into which thev have 
come. There is no higher ministry. And it is es- 
pecially fitting that the House of this ministry is set 



The College of the Present 555 

on the Heights, above the city, not only that the people 
may look up to it out r^f their labors, but that those 
who teach and study there may ever keep the hopes 
and the needs of this great city in their eyes and their 
thoughts. My word is '' Ads pice. " 



Prospice 

The College of the Future 



557 



The College of the Future 
lulward Morse Shcpard, '69 

A NI) iu>w, iJic fuUii-c ol" ll)i:; CoWc'/y. of l]j,c City, 
^ of l.lii;; (^hcrishin^ Mothor of our own— whnt 

is li(;r i'\]\A\V(: t,o In;? Who c.'iii Lcll? I>(;:;1, yoii t.liinl-; 1 
(lic'iiii I li.-ii'lly (]:\r(- piil, iiil.o woivl;; iJic full vision 
wliich I :,(•(:, ;i]i(l ;,(;(; clc.irly .'Hid surely, duriiij^ years 
wliicli .'U"(; to conic. In licr futuiv;, tlu; oiy.'uii/c'l 
('it,y of tli(; future will it.'ic.lf li;i,vc. .'i. '/rcAii, p.'i.rt IJk; 
(j'ty with it;; ever .'i.ii'l va,sLly iuereasiii}^ we.'i.lth, its 
stc.'ulily iinprovinj^ ide.'ils of i)u])h"e riff.'iirs rmd duties of 
citizcnshi]) overeoiiiiu}.^ ), he corruption:; .-hkI ft'inj^^crs of 
that we'll th, il-s I'.uyy.v ;uid l.'i.i-j',cr pl.'i.ce of powcjr in t,lie 
Americ'i.u n.-itioii, its l/irj^er .'iiid l.'irj^er loyalty to 
education as :i, crowniiij.^ civic service .'iiid jdory. 
Yes, the ('ity, d(;niocr,'i,tic in the s.trict equality of the 
rij^hts .'ind privilej^es, of its citizens,, .'i.rid iniperi.'i.l only 
in the r.-ni^'c .-nid niri.jnhtude of its usej'ul henclicencc:;, 
will help ni.'ila; the future of the ('ollej^e. A second 
,'md ,'i. s,till ju'e,'i,t(!r share will helon^^ 1/) the :;pirit 
of the citi/cnsJu'i) of the New York tfi.'i.t is to he, to 
its fiery ;i,i)d ;i,vid /(;.'i.l for f,li(; personal :^tren^tli <'i.nd 

559 



560 The College of the Future 

might brought by intellectual discipline, by well 
ordered and seemly knowledge. That zeal already 
rules the multifarious strains — national, racial, social, 
religious — which, in this fusing alembic of the metro- 
polis, are now deeply modifying, and, we hoi)e. en- 
riching, the English-speaking stock upon the foundation 
of which American life is built. Yes, the very char- 
acteristics of the race of America's future, that race 
to be more tiiih' American than any race America has 
yet known, that race which, in the making of it, is 
seen at New York as nowhere else, will gratefully 
sup]:)ort and mould the College of the future. And 
thirdh', and nobler even than the share in that future 
due to the City itself or to the intellectual thirst of 
its coming people, will be the share which moral in- 
tegritv and patriotism shall have in ftiture scholarship. 
For the>', I profoundly believe, will be the dominating 
authoritv over the affairs of our City and our land. 
There can be with us — and that is well — no sectarian 
instniction; but all the more for that, it will be a 
great dut>- of our part in the future scholarship of 
America to end the divorcement of the wits from the 
morals of men. Yes, this College of ours will abide 
secure in the hearts and convictions of the coming 
New York because her profoundest teaching shall be 
that Righteousness exalteth a Nation. 

When, sixty years ago, the College was founded, 
her students came from a city of 450,000 people; 
to-dav thev come from a city of 4,150,000 people — 



The Colle<T^c of the Future 5^3 



almost ten times as many. Her students to-day, four 
thousand in number, are more than ten times as many 
as they were when, in 1853, her first class j^n-ackiated. 
Who dares say what will be the ])0|)ulation of the city 
sixty years hence. Long, very loni,^ before the class 
of 1967 prepare their Commencement, our academic 
students — even if there were no other reason — must, 
because the spacious and sightly buildings now ahnost 
finished and the terraced site on which they stand will 
not hold them, go to separate high schools which we 
may hope will find in the College their true and ef^cient 
guardian and guide. Long before the time shall be 
ri])e for President Finley's emeritus presidency, the 
Freshman, vSo])hom()rc, junior, and Senior classes of the 
College will outnumber any single body of college 
students in otu' country or in the world. But it is 
not her num1)crs which will then be her glory ; rather 
will numbers represent the noble i^rivilege of her 
burdens — the wonderful sco])e of her influence and 
her duty. Though the College is not to be an uni- 
versity, we mean that no imiversity shall better or 
more powerfully help and direct American life than 
vShall our College. In that future day we mean that no- 
where — the world over — shall what makes up a 
liberal education, general but not technical, l)e better 
taught to the extent to which the young man must 
learn it if he would turn to the special mastery of 
any career for which intellectual discipline is necessary. 
'ITat educ'ation will include the languages and literatures 



564 The College of the Future 

of ancient and modem civilizations with all their 
humanities and gracious inspiration, the rigorous 
reasonings of mathematics and its beautiful and 
world-ruling applications, the sciences of mankind 
and of the earth beneath and the heavens above, the 
share which the arts of beauty ought to have in the 
life of the educated citizen, the histories of the living 
past with lessons to the living present, the fields of 
government and laws and the economies of man's 
subsistence, and the reasonings of divine philosophy 
herself. Within vears which some now living will see, 
St. Nicholas Heights will not hold the students of our 
College; buildings as great must, for her crowding 
ranks, be added to those which have now been reared at 
so much pains and cost. The students of the College 
as they leave her Senior classes, or sooner perhaps, 
under compulsion of res angusta domi, forego the 
crowning witness of the bachelor's degree, will overflow 
into the life of the city, of the State, and of the Nation, 
so that the American people be^'ond the Greater New 
York, no less than the Americans within its borders, 
shall call her blessed. 

If all this, O Brother Alumni, be rhapsody, is it 
not the rhapsody of truth ? If the feet of the alumnus 
stand truly and firmly on the ground, ought not his 
head to strike the stars? If we do not overpass in 
the present of our work and achievements what is 
wise and sound and within the knowledge and accom- 
plishment of common life, is it not helpful to realize — - 



The College of the Future 565 

though but dimly— the career which, if her children 
and her friends be faithful to her, as surely they will 
be, the Almighty offers this College of our service 
and devotion. 



THE END 



3*77 
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